Three Wheels: A Year For Secrets
by Requiem17
Summary: After Arthur and Merlin defeat Morgana's latest takeover attempt, things quiet down in Camelot…on the surface at least. What happened in the three 'peaceful' years after season four? Had the Golden Age really been a pipe dream? Well, with everything from a rocky alliance with the Druids to a missing dragon, Merlin's going to find out. [Canon Divergence, Post S4, Eventual Reveal]
1. Half-Penny Hero

_I enjoyed Merlin thoroughly, but the fifth season broke my heart. The reveal (in the last episode!) was beautiful and sad, but it left me wishing for what I always wanted. Magic free in Camelot, while Arthur was still alive to see it and fully able to accept Merlin. Maybe that's a spoiler for where this story is going. Except, it's not much of a spoiler because there is so much story to tell.  
_

 _Usually a story like this is done with big battles or evil magic-users storming the castle, but neither of those things will happen here. Remember, this is the three years in between. It's a story of behind-the-scenes, and days in the life of Camelot. There will be a few tweaks from the original storyline_ _—I need it for the reveal_ _ _—but_ the characters will grow to who they were meant to be. There will be plenty of politics and jokes and friendship and, of course, magic. _

_Welcome back to Camelot._

* * *

 **Half-Penny Hero**

 _Ostara (March 20)_

The sun shone through his threadbare blankets, and Merlin tried to ignore the light and Gaius' intentionally loud sighing as he made his way up the rickety stairs to Merlin's small room. He did feel a swirling sense of guilt…or was that his stomach? Ugh. Too much mead.

There was the sound of the door banging open, the creak of another loose floorboard, and the blanket was tugged from his face. Merlin immediately swung an arm over his eyes and grimaced. "How much of this morning are you planning on wasting?"

"No wastefulness here. I'm very busy hating Gwaine and sleeping."

Gaius rolled his eyes. "Did you forget you gathered ingredients for this?" He waved a vial under Merlin's nostrils, which wrinkled.

"Is that a leech?"

"It's the nausea potion."

Merlin grasped it with eyes still closed and poured it down his throat. He could specifically remember the last time he'd put himself in this situation, and he'd promised to prevent it at all costs for the rest of his life. Alas, he'd failed.

"Feeling better yet, or do I need to get myself a new apprentice?"

"I'm up," Merlin retorted as he gagged around the taste in his mouth. He swept the blanket fully off his body and folded himself carefully into a sitting position. "Where's my tunic?"

"Really, my boy, you call this a tunic?" Gaius nudged the purple pile of rags on the ground. After last night's festivities it was in dire need of a wash, though the stains and smudges told quite the story. "You are very late for Arthur might I add."

"Arthur gave me the morning off. He did only marry Gwen yesterday."

"More reason for you not to waste it. This opportunity is never going to come again." Gaius stood and tottered back to the door. "I could use some turnips."

Merlin's blue tunic lay folded on the wooden stool at his bedside, and he yanked it over his head. "I'll run to the market," he conceded. Though the thought of more turnip stew put a fire under him, and he jumped quickly into the rest of his clothes after Gaius exited. He'd have to hurry for there to be any worthy grain left, and he'd still have to stop by the Hall of Records to pick up his salary.

In his rush, he hopped down the stairs on one foot, stuffing the other into his boot as he went.

"Anything you need besides turnips?"

"Better pick up some Feverfew as well if you're going to make these nights with Gwaine a habit," Gaius smirked.

The rest of Camelot's castle slipped along like molasses, all nobles and many of the servants still recovering from last night's new year's feast. They had much to celebrate this Ostara: the completed rebuild after reconquering Camelot from Morgana and Helios, the second year of King Arthur, and of course, Gwen's return and crowning. Merlin walked the nearly empty halls feeling a bit proud, and truly happy for Arthur and Camelot.

His feet took him to Arthur's—well, Arthur and Gwen's—chambers. He knocked and shouted something silly about a termite infestation and then waited half a beat for Arthur's shout of " _Merlin!_ Do you have the memory of a _dayfly_?"

Merlin grinned and loped away, cutting through the kitchens to grab some of yesterday's bread from Audrey on his way to the library.

The Hall of Records, where the paperwork involved with the castle's finances were kept, resided alongside the library. So, Merlin passed Geoffrey of Monmouth with a wave as he ducked through bookshelves to get to it.

"Good morning, George!" He boomed as he walked in, enjoying the way the other man's eyebrows drew to a pinch.

George sat at a squat desk, to his left perched a lockbox filled with coins, and at his back was the bookshelf that held the scrolls for every worker in the castle.

"Name," George replied haughtily.

"You don't remember me, George? I thought we bonded over your cutlery jokes."

George sorted silently through other servant's names until he found the scroll with Merlin's history. He dashed off a few marks then looked up. "You cannot break the rules just because you are the king's manservant."

 _Oh, the irony._ "Merlin of Ealdor."

George's face crimped in the way Merlin now knew meant George was feeling victorious, and the man dropped three pennies into Merlin's hand. "I'll see you on Beltane."

"I look forward to it," Merlin said with an innocent smile to which George only scowled at.

Merlin swept from the room amusing himself by seeing how high he could flick a penny using his thumb, and running minor calculations in his mind. The market would already be in full swing by this time, and he hoped to still see worthy seeds and vegetables available for sale.

As he left the white walls of the citadel, he passed a bleary-eyed Leon who gave him a half-hearted nod of greeting.

Merlin clapped him on the shoulder. "Gaius has outdone himself with this morning's hangover cure. Though I'm certain I noticed a leech missing from the tank."

Leon shuddered and waved him away while Merlin grinned.

He strode through the wide streets of the noble's Upper Town and into the winding, grimier paths of the lower. The stocks stood at the peak of the market's main street, really taking advantage of the unsold wares of the week. Luckily, no luckless fool had garnered its punishment, and Merlin could pass his old haunt without grimacing.

While he continually hoped Gaius' turnip craving would pass, the physician's quips on nutrition and this all-important vegetable meant that Merlin had better buy extra. Between Elizabeth and Henry-the-Hermit, Merlin was able to gather a handful of new seeds and year-old plants ready for flowering. If he didn't get too distracted with destiny this year, then his three farthings may have just bought him a continuous cycle of turnips. Joy.

Another halfpence got him a pound of barley, and he nearly made it away before a bolt of cloth caught his eye. It was a sweet sky-blue that he knew his mother loved, and he sighed as thoughts of her bubbled to the front of his mind.

Ever since Tristan had mentioned King Lot's hobby of hanging his enemy's heads on the walls of his keep, Merlin had wanted to make sure his mother was well. He had mentioned to Arthur that he wanted to at least be in Ealdor when Lot's men came through for tariffs, but that had been before the wedding and he doubted Arthur remembered. Besides, the larger problem was how to leave Arthur alone for a week without the prat putting on a poisoned necklace or turning into a donkey.

"How much for a yard?"

The woman eyed him so he gestured towards the blue fabric. "A pence."

He expected as much, and while he had a bit of money stored in his chambers, he couldn't help the wince that crossed his face. The woman caught his look and unrolled the rougher serf's cloth that he'd grown up wearing.

"A farthing."

Merlin shook his head. "It's a gift for my mother." He smiled brightly, "would you take a half-pence?"

In the end he traded another three farthings, and a future bottle of blackcurrants once his shrub produced fruit in the summer, for a generous yard of the blue cloth and a handful of scrap fabric that would make good thread.

He carried his spoils back to Gaius' chambers and didn't trip even once. However, because he was fate's plaything, as he swung into the room he collided with a green-faced Leon and turnips rolled everywhere.

"I regret this already," Leon muttered with a sour twist of his lips.

"You'll feel much better once you get over the bad breath," Merlin replied conspiringly.

Leon turned back to the physician and thanked him for his help.

"Of course, Sir Leon," Gaius responded as the door closed behind the Captain of the Guard. He waited for the good knight's footsteps to fade down the corridor, then turned and smacked Merlin in the head. "Boiled leeches?"

Merlin grinned sheepishly and shuffled around on the floor looking servile. It didn't fool Gaius, but the handful of turnips won him over. " _So_ …" he began suddenly, "what do you know about scrying?"

Gaius' eyebrow twitched upward. "What brought this about?"

"Since Arthur and Gwen—" Gaius' eyebrow inched even higher, " _Since Arthur_ _and Gwen_ will be staying in Camelot while I visit Ealdor," he said emphatically, "I need a way to keep watch over them."

"Are you certain spying on them at sudden moments is how you want to monitor their safety?" Gaius' voice dripped with skepticism.

Merlin grimaced, "Probably not. But what other choice do I have?"

Gaius put a hand on his back and lowered himself into a stool with a sigh. "Then let's discuss the theory behind scrying. Do you understand the Law of Contagion?" Merlin's quirked head bade him continue. "It explains how a magical link can be formed between two people or objects once they have been in contact." Gaius paused and frowned at him. "Didn't you just tell me you used a link like this to freeze Morgana's magic?"

"I used a binding spell and a poppet."

"That sounds very near a curse."

Merlin reached into his pocket and pulled his remaining coins into his hands so he could avoid looking at Gaius. "It was a curse."

It was to Gaius' credit that he did not react in any way. Instead he continued slowly, "Scrying is a similar art, though all accounts I've heard are for speaking with the dead." Gaius startled as a potion began bubbling, but turned back to the conversation. "Did you use Morgana's hair to enact the curse?"

Merlin rolled the silver and copper through his fingers. "I didn't use anything of hers."

He reached across the table and grasped Merlin's wrist. "The way you bend these rules continues to shock me, Merlin. To have bound a sorceress as strong as Morgana with a contagion through straw is stunning. If anyone could bind a living spirit to an object it would be you."

While the words had been meant to soothe, Merlin instead stood in agitation. "Just because I can do it, doesn't mean I should." He clenched his fist. "How could I even think of cursing Arthur?"

A tense silence swallowed the room as he fumed at himself. Gaius waited warily for Merlin's shoulders to unwind as the young man calmed before placing a careful hand upon him. "Merlin, you would never hurt Arthur. Peace in Albion is both of your destinies."

Merlin froze and Gaius removed his hand. He needn't have worried, though, because moments later Merlin whirled around with a huge grin upon his face. "Yes, because we are two sides of the same coin! Brilliant, Gaius!"

"What are you on about now, Merlin?"

Merlin bound from the room, heading to his chambers. "Coins!" He dove under the bed to pry at the loose floorboard.

 _This boy is exhausting._ Gaius huffed. He ambled over to the bubbling potion and poured it into a larger pitcher, then held it to the light to check its color. He heard the rustling of pages and the mumble of magic.

He nearly dropped the pitcher on his own face as Merlin barreled back out and flung a halfpenny at him. "Were you being literal?"

"It's a sigil," Merlin beamed and held a similar coin in his own hand. "I made two, and I bound them together." He pressed a finger to the coin, and Gaius felt his own halfpenny warm. "Since they're sigils, I can charge them!"

Merlin looked so pleased that Gaius didn't have the heart to bring him down with his own confusion. "Very good, my boy."

"You have to help me test them."

"And how do we—"

"We put Arthur in danger," Gaius immediately turned away with a _No!_ "Just a little bit of danger!" He reached over and grabbed the halfpence from Gaius. "This one is a maintenance sigil, and this one here is a shield sigil. I'll be able to tell if Arthur gets hurt. I'll be able to _protect_ him. Well slightly…I haven't completely worked out all the kinks…" Merlin trailed off, but beamed again. "I just need to test it once before I go."

"Absolutely not," Gaius said severely. "I don't condone this reckless behavior."

Merlin waved him off with a laugh and hopped to the door. "Well then, I'm on a mission for destiny. I'll be taking the rest of the day off."

Gaius shook his head in exasperation and again raised the pitcher to the light. This time he swirled slightly to bring air into the mixture and felt blindly along his desk for the vial of powdered sage. Merlin nearly gave him a heart attack when he sprung back in.

"And don't tell anyone I'm at the tavern!"

 _—_

"Arthur you _must_ let me go," Guinevere giggled lightly. "I don't believe I've been in bed this long since I was a child."

"If you insist, my queen." Arthur fell back onto the bed with a smile as he watched his _wife_ slip a sheet around her body and head for her folding screen. _So modest—too bad,_ he grinned to himself. "If the nobles last night are anything to go by, I'm not going to have you to myself for quite some time, so forgive me for dallying."

"Oh, Arthur," she said in her melodic voice, "they were following custom. I expect they want to gain my favor."

"Or they were entranced by how beautiful you are."

She poked her head around the screen and gave him a reprimanding look. "If you're planning on taking up poetry, you could use a spot of coaching."

He laughed and rolled to his side, content to stay in bed as long as he was able. "In all seriousness, we will need to introduce you to our allies. Perhaps we shall call on Lord Godwyn, then make our way around Camelot's borders."

"Would it be wise to be away from home for so long?" She peeked at him while dressed in her chemise and he smiled at her again.

"You will be a wonderful queen, Guinevere."

Knocking at the door pulled both of their attention, and Merlin's voice called to them. "Are you decent?"

Arthur's head fell back into the pillows as he groaned and Gwen's laugh tinkled from behind the screen.

"You're not? Don't you both have a kingdom to rule? People to put in the stocks and all that?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Gwen?"

"You can come in, Merlin."

The manservant opened the door with a flourish, his blue eyes twinkling and his raven hair ruffled. As he swept into the room the door shut with a bang, and he dropped the platter of cheese and bread onto the serving table with another clang. He placed the goblet from his other hand on Arthur's desk while kicking yesterday's clothes into a neater pile, and then pushed open the curtains. _The man was a storm,_ Arthur thought.

Merlin turned to Arthur with a raised brow. "I see you've forgotten how to dress without my help."

Gwen giggled again and appeared from behind the screen wearing a simple gown of purple. While it would have been highly inappropriate in the Great Hall, around her friend, and formerly fellow servant, it was more than enough clothing. "Thank you for the food, Merlin. You didn't have to do that for us."

"It's too early in your marriage to deal with a cranky Arthur."

"If the both of you are going to girl talk, then you can leave."

Merlin ignored Arthur's jibe as he was too intently watching Guinevere lift the goblet from the table and raise it to her lips. Just as it touched her mouth he cleared his throat and snatched the cup from her hands.

Gwen looked at him questioningly as he moved to the window and poured the goblet's contents out of it. "It was for Arthur," he explained.

She responded by glancing furtively at the back of his neck, and he turned to her with an innocent smile. "Nothing like that Gwen, just a prank." He looked slyly at the king still under the covers. "I knew he wouldn't be able to chase me."

Gwen swatted at his arm and he laughed, but then held it out to her. "Can I escort you to the kitchens for a better drink?"

She looked softly at her husband and asked, "Will you be alright on your own, Arthur?" A twinkle grew in her eye and he realized she was teasing him.

He threw a pillow at them both. "You'd think you both get paid for harassing me."

"Only I do now," Merlin said cheekily. "Nice thinking marrying Gwen though; I don't think the coffers could have afforded us both much longer."

"Tell me Merlin, are any of the prison cells available?"

"No, your highness, they're booked until Yule."

By this time Gwen had finished slipping an embroidered tunic over her shoulders, its intricate designs falling elegantly to her waistline. She placed her hand on Merlin's elbow just as the man swung Arthur's scabbard onto his back.

"Where are you going with my sword?"

"To do servantly things," Merlin replied as the door closed behind them.

Arthur blinked at the disappearing footsteps, and then at the growing silence in his chambers. _Well, this is new_.

 _—_

Gwen and Merlin walked down the stone corridor arm-in-arm. They could barely make it five feet without another servant or noble giving their new queen a small bow, and Gwen was much too nice to not acknowledge them. After Sir Geraint nearly slobbered all over Gwen's hand, Merlin decided to intervene.

He nudged her with his shoulder and said loudly, "So, my lady," and then he grinned, "is Arthur as good with a sword as he thinks he is?"

"Merlin!" Gwen looked about them aghast, and then hid her smile behind her hand as she tried to look sternly at him. "I haven't heard that kind of talk since I was a serving girl."

"Good reason to keep me around then," he replied cheekily as he steered them through the bottom of the stairwell.

"Well, it certainly is a _long_ story," Gwen continued, not one to back down around Merlin. He nearly doubled over in laughter at her secretive smirk. "Though I don't think I could explain it properly without having to reference a few of your mother's stories."

Merlin's disgusted expression spoke for itself.

Gwen giggled and rested her head on his shoulder. "I do miss just gossiping with the other girls between chores. I wonder how they're all doing."

"Ask them," Merlin said nonchalantly.

"I'm sure it would be different." She sighed and Merlin studied her out of the corner of his eye. "It's already all so different."

"Gwen," His blue eyes tore from her to stare unfocusedly down the hallway, and he ran a hand through his hair as he mulled over his words. "People are going to expect a lot from you. They'll praise you and question you and throw titles at you. Despite all of that, you're still Gwen, and you always will be." He smiled his disarming grin at her, "You were my first friend when I came to Camelot. You are one of my best friends now. That will never change."

She took a moment to think over what he'd said, but the small smile forming on her face meant he'd done his job. "You really can be so wise, Merlin. When is Arthur going to smarten up and make you an official advisor?"

"When he gets tired of watching my rear end while I fetch water."

Gwen admonished him again and a flush rose to her cheeks as she laughed. At that moment the wooden door for the kitchens burst open and Elyan appeared carrying a jug and a handful of cups.

He greeted them both before Gwen snatched a cup from his hand. He filled it for her with a fond smile, then pulled her into a one-armed embrace and kissed her on the forehead. "Are you hungry, sister?"

As she shook her head, Elyan glanced to Merlin.

"Can I steal the queen as I make some rounds to the on-duty knights?"

"Wonderful idea, Elyan," Gwen beamed.

Merlin waved them off and they both left for the battlements. He hoisted Excalibur higher onto his back and thought on what area of the castle he could get a quiet moment with Arthur's scabbard.

Eventually he decided the place he could come up with the quickest excuse was the armory, and he entered the familiar room as Sir Cador was hanging his halberd. He turned quickly at Merlin's entrance, but upon recognizing him didn't acknowledge the servant.

That was well enough for Merlin, because he needed a bit of space to break the law. He went to sit on a bench so his back was to the door and removed Excalibur from its sheath. He grabbed a whetstone and ran it lightly along the blade until Sir Cador left, then set both aside. He took the sheath and held it before him.

Arthur rarely carried a shield, so the shield of the sword would be best able to carry his spell. Though now he had to puzzle out how he was going to actually do that.

He took the halfpence from his pocket and placed it into a circlet within the embroidery. It didn't quite fit, but he shoved the filigree with his magic until he could wedge in the coin. He could just imagine the verbal lashing he would get when Arthur discovered it.

He shrugged. It wouldn't be worse than anything before. In fact, it would probably be amusing. Though if Arthur's track record were to be referenced, the oblivious king would never find out.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, looking supremely suspicious if anyone had cared to watch him. He was alone though, so he slipped the other coin into his hand and his eyes flared gold. He felt his magic slip from the twin halfpence into the sheath, and wobble delicately around the metal's form.

With another flash of gold he shoved, and his magic expanded explosively around his body and—by accident—the bench he sat on. Small bonus, he now knew there was a leg very near to rotting through.

He retracted until the magic held loosely around his body. He'd used similar magic after being struck by the mace last year. It wasn't anything near a healing spell, but it had kept most of the blood within his body, and thus kept him conscious enough to create that last rockslide.

He thought of testing it with a knick on his finger, but that sounded too morbid. Instead he felt for the scab on his knee, and for the healing abrasions on his hip from when he'd stumbled the night before.

Merlin looked to the sword by his side then rapidly shook his head. As the magic released, he was careful to stuff it back into the sheath's sigil. It made the halfpence warm in his left hand, and all seemed in order. He put the paired coin in his pocket and sighed deeply while he leaned his head back onto the coat of arms behind him.

Then he gave in and shoved his hand for the sword at his side. Magic jolted from the sigil, completely out of his control. The coin in his pocket jumped to cold and he felt the shield crackle around his body as the sword gouged him.

He snatched his hand back quickly and held it loosely, cursing himself. Well, now he knew a few things. One, still an idiot. Two, the magic in the sigil was no longer his. It would protect anyone holding the sheath.

That didn't sound as safe as he'd like, but this was the best plan he could come up with on short notice. If he got a chance he'd ask Kilgharrah later, though he doubted the dragon would be very helpful on something like this.

Someone stumbled into the armory then changed direction to walk directly for him. Eventually he felt that someone hovering over him, and he glanced up to see Gwaine's sleep-deprived eyes peering at him blearily.

Percival followed behind, and walked around the bench to look at the injury Merlin was cradling. Merlin mumbled an incomprehensible excuse before trying to change the subject. "What brings you two to the room of stink?"

"We're avoiding Elyan. He dumped half a pitcher of water on me for skipping patrol," Gwaine said with a scowl.

Percival reached one arm to his new tunic and ripped his entire sleeve off. He held it out to Merlin who smiled abashedly.

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "Percy, do you own _anything_ with sleeves?"

The large man shrugged and stood to his feet as Merlin wrapped the large bundle of fabric around his hand. With Gaius' help he was sure it could fully heal in a day or two.

Merlin tilted his head at his friend, "You're in a bad mood."

Gwaine grumbled again and stomped on the bench in a parody of testing its strength.

Merlin winced and said "Ah—Don't—!" just as Gwaine flopped bodily onto the frame. The wood splintered and the entire bench angled as it tried to collapse atop the knight. Merlin stood in a hurry and Percival grabbed Excalibur before it could cause anyone else harm.

Gwaine rolled to his side and put his face into the grimy stone floor. "Leave me here, I'm dead. This is the worst day ever."

Merlin began to chuckle and even Percival cracked a smile. "Come on you lazy bum. I'll take you to Gaius."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) I'm going with the modern pagan calendar here. Ostara is the Spring Equinox and was the beginning of the year for Celtics.  
(2) Feverfew is an herb that helps with headaches.  
(3) Audrey is the head chef from the show.  
(4) Not sure if halfpence or farthings even existed in the Middle Ages. I know pennies were made of silver and existed in the 5th/6th centuries. I've modified wages/prices from the 1300s to give myself something reasonable to go off of for Camelot, but yes, Albion's entire monetary system is largely based out of my head.  
(5) I'm sure you all remember George.  
(6) According to legend, Arthur's sheath could protect the wearer from bleeding. I've decided Merlin is not very good at healing spells or we'd have seen him use them more often in the show. I'm also taking a page from Harry Potter and saying healing magical ailments is much harder than physical ailments. I think with some focus Merlin would speed along the healing of his hand.  
(7) Sir Geraint and Sir Cador are both minor canon characters.

 **Author's Note:**

Wow, I needed quite a few footnotes in this one. I guess that makes sense for a largely plotless introductory chapter.

I wrote most of what I wanted to say in the introductory author's note. I think that information needed to be at the beginning instead of at the end here where it will be from now on. Hopefully you guys got an introduction to my writing style and think it's okay enough to come back and see what else is in store. By the fourth/fifth chapter you should have a better feel for how this story is going to move, so hopefully people stick around until then.

Well, thanks for reading! I'm excited for this!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Merlin or profit from this story.


	2. Lucky Charms

—

 **Lucky Charms**

 _The Kalends of April (March 21-31)_

Merlin didn't often take languid walks through the forest. Though casually trekking to Ealdor may not count as a common stroll, it was vastly different from his past few times in the Forest of Ascetir. Due to this, small, sweet things caught his senses. His sight would snare on the tiny yellow and periwinkle flowers pushing through low grass, and his nose would be lost in smells of pine and sap and earthy loam.

It was a welcome distraction, for the forest did not hold many paths, and it was slow going through the packed dirt and twisted roots of Ascetir. Most of the day had passed thusly, though his morning began with him rolling in his sleep and suddenly finding himself tumbling downhill.

The long grass on the hills between Camelot's forests and Ascetir had looked so soft and inviting the night before. They had been the perfect bed as he watched the stars wheel overhead. However, after getting a mouthful of them in the morning he'd stopped feeling so generous.

Though, the sounds and sights of the forest had calmed him and now his few selfish thoughts were of the ache in his feet from the two days of walking. His body was eager to make it to Ealdor, though Merlin did not overly concern himself with the exact direction, knowing as long as he traveled as the sun rose he couldn't get lost. If he veered too far South, he would hit the Ridge of Ascetir, and if he veered too North—

He'd hit the river.

He'd never known it's proper name, just knew it as the river some Mercian rafts came down and the river they drew water from. It was a sparkling, clear stream, and it had appeared through the tree line like a mirage.

Merlin bent at its banks, scooping some water into his mouth and then slipping his boots off to dip his feet. The water was fresh and cold, and he felt relief as it washed over his strained muscles. He knew that this would only make them contract and stiffen, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He fell onto his back while his legs dangled, closing his eyes and let the wind kiss his skin. His ears filled with the tumble of water, the chatter of animals, and faint voices on the breeze. He didn't pay much attention at first, knowing the voices came from downstream. However, as the animals began to grow silent and the tone of the voices changed to belligerence, Merlin sat up and faced his hometown.

He didn't hear the strikes, but he heard the screams that followed.

Time flickered. In a blink he was sprinting to Ealdor, his small pack gripped tightly in his right hand, and his left pushing the time freeze as far in front of him as he was able. His bubble stretched and ballooned—amorphous, pliable. When he saw the edges of Ealdor's huts his eyes flashed gold and his village was swept with his magic.

He stumbled to the nearest dwelling and leaned his back against the cool stone, working to catch his breath. Feeling the strain of the magic, he quickly reeled in the size of his freeze to the village of Ealdor, and then even more to just the town square where everyone appeared to be gathered.

He still felt a bit shaky, but with his strength now returning, he slipped into the shadow of the hut he stood near and took in the villagers and the group of knights crowded around a bent man. The man's face was turned from him as he had been struck, and he was too far away for Merlin to recognize. His memory fared no better with the orange-clad knights themselves.

Merlin exhaled slowly and then returned time.

"—not the king's duty to inform outlying serfs of minor decrees," the head knight snarled. He unclasped his cloak and let it fall in a heap at his feet. To Merlin it looked like he was standing in a pile of old leaves.

The knight made a half-turn, so all there could see his hand clasped around the hilt of his sword. "Are you certain you have nothing to offer for feorm?"

The man looked up from where he kneeled, and Merlin recognized him now, "I am certain, Lord Urien, that bandits have taken all the grain I have."

The knight—' _Lord'_ Merlin corrected himself—sneered. "Will you use bandits as your excuse this harvest season?"

"I wouldn't have to if you lot did your jobs."

That was the straw that took the argument too far, and Merlin went skidding into the square straight for the villager Alane. He put both of his hands on the older man's shoulders and glanced rapidly over his injuries, ensuring he was all right. His own body between Alane and Lord Urien was enough to stop the sword from striking.

If Merlin had been Arthur, or, really, had been allowed to be anyone other than Merlin-the-farmboy-turned-manservant, he would have turned and made this _lord_ rue treating citizens this way. As it was, though, the best Merlin could do was play the peasant.

He remained crouched with Alane while he turned to look at Urien's irritated face. He put on the dopey serf act that he'd perfected long ago. "What's going on?"

"Insubordination, and now the village idiot," Urien muttered.

"Are you here for this spring's hearth tax?" Merlin asked glibly. "Two pence, right?"

"Three," drawled Urien.

Merlin let loose his goofiest grin and watched from the corner of his eye as Urien's white-knuckled grip on his sword loosened. "The spirits smiled on me today." He reached into his pocket and sorted through the few coins he had, and pulled them out in a fist. "Alane sent me to sell whatever we could spare. We would never want to be a burden on our new lord."

He unfurled his fingers and Urien looked down his nose at the grimy fingernails and blemished copper. He waved a knight over who plucked the money from Merlin's hand and then pulled him to standing.

Urien studied Merlin's face and spoke loudly for all to hear. "Cenred went to war for you. We are _all_ still paying the costs of it. I do not imagine you can follow the intricacies of running a kingdom… _so just follow my directives next time_. Stay on my good side, and perhaps I'll talk to our king in your favor."

The Lord looked around at the villagers to ensure his message had sunk in. Each had their head bowed in silent acquiescence. As a parting gift, he stepped toward Merlin and whispered a quiet threat. "I am the one who bestows mercy. Do not expect much from spirits in the future if you or your smart-mouthed father stand in the path of my sword again."

Urien turned away and waved for the knights to follow. More mercifully for Merlin, the lord and his men didn't see the look that came over Merlin's face immediately after. He would never have attacked—this was certainly not the time for Ealdor's second cyclone—but his mother was suddenly at his side, tugging at his arm that he only then noticed ended in a clenched fist.

"Merlin, what a surprise! It's wonderful to see you again so soon." Hunith's normally kind features had morphed into a mixture of shock and trepidation. The true happiness at seeing her son appeared to be slow coming, considering the events of the last half-hour.

"What happened here? You've got a new lord?"

"Let's speak inside, Merlin."

He let himself be led away, and didn't speak until the door to their hut closed behind him. "Mother, I wasn't about to explode."

"It never hurts to be careful," she said sternly. She paused and then wrapped him in a tight hug. "Thank you for saving him, my dear."

Merlin set his pack on a stool by the door and returned his mother's hug. "Of course. Just please explain what's going on."

She released him and led them to their wooden table where she sat grasping his hand. "Lot killed and replaced the lords of Cenred's main allies. I gather Urien is the new lord of these lands." Her lips pursed, "This morning he and his men arrived with their new tax demands. Many of us hadn't planned for more than usual, and we were scrambling to try to meet their quota. Those of us that had extra tried to help the others."

"I can't imagine there was enough coin in this town for three pence per hearth."

"They offered three pounds of grain for a pence," Hunith replied tiredly.

"That's robbery!" Merlin exclaimed, "I'll tell Arthur and the knights—"

She gave him a smack on the back of his hand, "You will not. These aren't bandits; they are Lot's nobles."

"Hardly," Merlin scoffed, then admitted through clenched teeth. "But defending you is an act of war." He shook his head in anger. "I can't believe they were going to kill Alane for a few pence!"

"I think they would have come to an understanding." Hunith sighed, "I'm sure Alane has the coin; I don't know what possessed him to lie."

Merlin stood from the table. "I'll look in on him later. I want to double check that he's alright."

The hut was small, and it only took two of his strides to reach his mother's barrel of grain. He removed the lid and sucked in a breath. His lungs felt tight in his chest.

"What will you all eat?"

"We'll be alright until we can travel down to Engerd and see what there is to trade."

"There will be nothing there either," Merlin said tensely, still staring in horror at his mother's food stores.

"Then we will go to Upwood."

Merlin replaced the lid and turned slowly, painfully, back to her. "What can I do?"

She smiled kindly at him, "You were always my lucky charm during the growing season. Perhaps you can spread some of that luck."

He swallowed thickly and nodded. "I'll think of something." He moved to his pack and unlaced the old fabric. "This is for you," he handed the blue cloth over, then quickly sorted through the bits of change he'd brought with him—Arthur's halfpence still safely wedged in his boot. He handed his mother another three pence in change. "This is for harvest season."

She smiled sadly at the coins and Merlin moved to her, wrapping her fingers tightly around the small stack.

"Please be selfish. Don't give it to someone else," he pleaded quietly.

Her soft expression told him plainly that she would give it to the first family that needed it more than her.

"Then I'll come back for Mabon."

"You cannot tear yourself apart trying to protect everyone, my dear. Arthur is a great king. Camelot is where you belong." She patted his cheek. "Don't look so forlorn. I'm not going anywhere."

—

The sun was touching the tops of the trees by the time Merlin made it back to the forest. He needed dogwood to reduce the swelling around Alane's nastier bruises. The time it took to walk to Ascetir and back was just bonus.

Most of the spells he could think of for fertile soil, protection from the elements, or other topical cures were only temporary. They had been simple spells he'd woven while he lived here, but they wouldn't last once he'd gone back to Camelot. He needed something permanent. Something he hadn't thought of before.

Merlin glanced around at the undergrowth. Half of his mind scoured for the white flowers of a dogwood shrub, and the other half hoped desperately for inspiration.

That inspiration smacked him solidly across the face. Though at the time, he was only irritated.

Another pinecone hit him cross the cheek and he whirled just in time to see a small creature scurry into the shadow of leaves. As he watched, another pinecone launched itself towards him and a diminutive man leapt from the leaves into a tree further away.

Merlin only shook his head and continued trudging on, though this time sparing moments looking up into the trees for the faerie. On one occasion he caught the man peering at him and he called out.

"Hello! Do you know of a nearby dogwood shrub?"

Before he'd even gotten all of the words out of his mouth, the man had disappeared. He stepped closer to the tree he'd last seen him in.

"I won't hurt you."

Merlin walked around the base of the tree, looking up at the branches. At no sign of the only help he was likely to get, Merlin sighed and made his way back to the game trail he had stood on previously. Well, he tried to at least. It had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

He twisted slowly on the spot, spying the path many yards away through a copse of trees. How had he gotten so far off track?

No matter. He moved onto the trail and continued west. It branched and he took the left fork. Shortly after he lost the trail again but picked it up further on.

In this way he wove through the Forest of Ascetir, completely unaware of how many times he'd been tricked. He was fortunate that the faerie meant him no serious harm, except for the occasional stubbed toe as tree roots shifted imperceptibly.

The light was low now, casting the forest in a yellow-orange glow. Merlin knew that unless he wanted to spend the night out here he should make his way back to Ealdor and continue the search tomorrow. He turned around to head back.

However, behind him wasn't the path he'd just spent walking. Instead a clearing filled with green grass spread before his eyes, and at the center grew a large willow tree. Even more astonishingly, behind that willow tree stepped a giant.

It was the man Merlin had spied among the leaves along the outskirts of the forest, though now trees hid in his shadow. His was an older face, with a long beard of moss and vines. His skin was pebbly and mottled like a scoop of dirt, and a whole hill of long grass and flowers grew along his hunched back.

He smiled a toothy grin. "It took you long enough, oh great Emrys."

Merlin held his hand up in greeting, still trying to work out what he'd gotten himself into. "Can I help you?"

"Aren't those my lines?" The old man said in amusement.

Merlin furrowed his brow but went back to his earlier mundane question, confused as to why this creature of the forest had went to so much trouble to answer it. "Do you know where I can find some dogwood bark?"

"You think I plot out every plant in the entire damned forest?"

"If you didn't know then why did you bring me here?"

"What I always bring people here for—a trade." The giant smiled. His teeth were made of old tree stumps. He snapped his fingers and leaves erupted from the ground before Merlin's feet. In the time it took him to study the burst of magic, the leaves had spun into thickened bark and begun to spread outward.

The magic felt different than most magic he'd come across in a long while. If he had to place it—he'd say it reminded him of the prickly, happy, hoppy magic of the goblin. It bubbled from the rapidly growing shrub, frolicking around his feet in little spheres of cherubic joy and mischief.

In a burst of color, the bush flowered into the white blooms of a dogwood shrub, and Merlin looked skeptically up at the woodland faerie.

"This I'll give you. You gave me bragging rights over the other Leshys. Not many get to say they tricked Emrys."

Merlin bent down to the bush and snapped a handful of lower branches off with a flash of his eyes.

The Leshy shuffled around, then folded himself onto his legs. His hair hung down around him and the more Merlin looked, the more the man looked like a withering tree. "Please tell me I haven't put all this effort in getting you alone, and you have nothing interesting to talk about."

He placed the branches into his pack. "I need to protect and invigorate the crops for my village this year."

"Now that's more like it," the old man grinned.

"Can you do that?"

The creature scratched its head and a flock of birds darted from his hair into the surrounding trees. "Yes, for a price."

"What do you want?" Merlin said stiffly.

"That's what I'm deciding on. What could I make you give me?"

Merlin schooled his expression and cracked open the magic within him. It ran to throb through his fingers and streamed beneath his skin. He faced the faerie seriously, prepared to fight his way out here.

"Your first born child." The old giant leaned back his head and boomed with laughter.

He heard the beating of wings as the birds fled again.

The giant leaned forward onto a massive palm and wiped tears from his eyes. "No? How about Arthur's first born?"

Merlin growled. "Never."

The Leshy's eyes glowed with amusement, and it watched Merlin's growing strength with a hint of greed. "Just a joke. That's my style." The giant shifted back and forth before smiling again. "Get me a wife."

"Someone else like you?"

"No! Aren't you supposed to know things?" He waved a hand at Merlin's fighting stance. "I need a companion. Do you have any idea how dull it gets talking to squirrels?"

Merlin's life had been full of decisions he had no time to reason out. He went with his gut on this as he had many others. "I could do that, if you give me time."

The Leshy studied him critically, and a dangerous smile grew on the giant's face. "Then I give you a year. Your village will have one wheel of the best growing season they'll ever see." He leaned forward, and his shadow enveloped the clearing. "But, renege on your word—and every grain turns to poison."

Merlin nodded with a quick jerk of his head. "We have a deal."

The giant stood to its feet, and he smiled so wide he nearly split his face in half. "So we do. Run along now, little Emrys."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) The Kalends of April is actually the first of April. Time was counted up to a day though, so the day after Ostara, March 21st, would have been called 10 Kalends of April (assuming 31 days in March). I'm using the fantasy-license to say 10 Kalends of April, 9 Kalends of April, etc. to be "The Kalends of April". This is easier for me because now I can tell time without having to be exact.  
(2) You'll remember King Lot is a true character, but I've made up Lord Urien…and Alane…and many other OCs for this story. Trying my best to stick with names of the time period. I need OCs to tell the story, but I can promise that there will never be a scene with just OCs interacting.  
(3) In the episode with the troll-wife, they raise taxes on the citizens. So I know taxes are out there, and people are expected to have coin, at least in Camelot.  
(4) Mabon is a festival near harvest time.  
(5) The Leshy is a Russian faerie, taken by some to be evil, and others to be mischievous. In the center of the forest he is a giant, shrinking the further from the center he gets. He seems to be made of the plants around him. Leshy's were known to make pacts with farmers.

 **Author's Note:**

A few thoughts on Merlin's magic. I love Merlin being BAMF as much as the next person, but to make it more realistic I've given him limits. Deep down I still believe that Merlin could go far beyond the limits I place for him in moments in the story, but I also think that would only be true in extreme or emotional situations.

My theory on time freezing. It's actually just 'freezing'. A weaker sorcerer could knock a jug from a table and freeze just the jug while the rest of the room continues unfrozen. An even weaker sorcerer could just slow it down. Merlin instinctively freezes everything in the room, so it seems more like a time freeze. As someone approaches the bubble, they decelerate at an accelerating rate until they cross some threshold and are frozen too.

I just enjoy having magic make sense to me. I think it makes Merlin seem even more powerful.

On Essetir. We know that Lot took over Essetir after Cenred, and we know Tristan hinted at him being a bad guy, but because of the show ending in the 5th series we never actually meet Lot. And he was built up so well! This is what's great about fanfiction—no budget. Don't let this convince you Lot's going to be marching an army on Camelot any time soon though. Remember, most of canon will remain. But, I'm sure we'll meet both Lot and Urien again.

The Leshy plotline is important. We'll revisit it much later in the year. He was extremely fun to write!

There is a bit more to Ealdor, perhaps another chapter about this size. Since they're both shorter chapters I'll likely get the new one up in a few days.

And as for my wonderful reviewers, you both made my day! Mersan123, I'm glad you're with me on my 'happier' ending. I want it to seem like a completely reasonable way the show could have gone had they had more seasons. It will take me nearly three story-years so I really hope you're in for the long haul! I'm also glad you liked all the scenes with the various characters in the introduction, but honestly it will be hard to try and include everyone every chapter. I hope you still enjoyed this chapter even though it only included Merlin and Hunith. And tatariss, I didn't expect a second review so many days after I posted, so you were a pleasant surprise. I'm really glad it felt authentic to you, and that even as I bring in OCs that feel can continue. Please tell me if it doesn't!

 **Next time** : A Roll in the Hay. Merlin finds out why Alane risked his life over three pence.


	3. A Roll in the Hay

—

 **A Roll in the Hay**

 _The Kalends of April (March 21-31)_

Travel up and down the Eastern Tower commonly involved either of two stairwells. The first was the servant's stairwell that Merlin frequented as he darted between jobs. Gaius was more familiar with the second. This was the noble's passage, and it had wide stone steps easier for an older man to traverse, and alternating windows and Pendragon pennants as decoration.

Gaius stopped on the landing for the second floor to catch his breath. Fresh spring air blew through the small pointed window, and he breathed deeply as he rested the joints in his knees.

Heavy footfalls sounded from below him, and Gaius turned to greet whoever would soon pass him. The man's large blond head came into view first, followed by a hulking body in a sleeveless tunic.

"Ah, Sir Percival," Gaius said respectfully, with a small nod of his head.

"Gaius," Percival responded with a wide smile. "Are you headed to Sir Brennis'?"

"I am, then a few other usual patients," Gaius responded.

"May I join you?"

Gaius nodded, albeit wondering why that was necessary. He handed the large knight his pack of potions, salves, and spare herbs and braced himself along the wall as they continued down the stairwell. "How is the king?"

Percival smiled a secret grin, and looked side-long at Gaius. "His chainmail is on backwards."

A bark of laughter escaped the physician, and he quickly covered his mouth, embarrassed at having laughed at the king. "Merlin will be pleased to hear that. He's faring well otherwise?"

"All's well," Percival replied. "Tearing him away from the queen is getting troublesome."

"And how is she doing?"

"She seems in high spirits," Percival continued, throwing a questioning glance Gaius' way.

"I promised Merlin I'd keep an eye on them," Gaius replied in way of explanation. "It is within my job description anyways."

Percival outwardly found that amusing, but Gaius caught the hint of understanding flash through the large man's eyes as they exited the citadel.

The Upper Town was mostly made up of the noble's manors, and many servants were darting about as they made up for the week's lethargy. The higher nobles, those that came from more prominent families, lived in estates nearest to the castle, providing the best views and the shortest distance to safety. A few of the knights came from these families, but most lived in the smaller homes further away if they chose not to stay in barracks within the castle.

Fortunately for Gaius' joints, Sir Brennis came from the eminent Pelham family, and lived in one of the nearest homes to the castle. As they approached the manor, a young boy came scampering out with a large basket of linens, and when he saw Sir Percival nearly stumbled over himself to a complete stop and looked up at him with wide astonished eyes.

Percival leaned down to smile at the young boy. He was a skinny thing with a mop of brown hair, wearing an obviously hand-me-down tunic, and he continued looking at Percival in obvious awe. "I see you carrying that big basket on your own. You are very strong for your age."

The boy grinned, showing off his three missing teeth. "Maybe I'll be a Knight of the Round Table too," he said happily. "Sire," he added quickly, bowing his head in a spasm that nearly spilled the linens all over the cobblestones.

"Perhaps you will," Percival said, a warm expression on his face. He stood and turned back to Gaius as the young boy ran off in delight. He held out a hand to help Gaius over a rounded stone, and Gaius took the chivalric offer despite not truly needing it. He wasn't _that_ old just yet—he still had many years ahead of him.

The Pelham gardener had decorated the entrance with freshly planted yellow flowers to offset the heavy red curtains hanging from all the front-facing windows, all of which were emblazoned with the Pelham's crest of the bow and arrow.

Percival knocked on the front door, and an older man opened it before he bowed to both the knight and Gaius in turn. "If you will wait in the anteroom, I will go to fetch Sir Brennis."

The two men moved into the smaller side room though chose to remain standing. Gaius had seen the plush furniture and historic tapestry adorning the wall many times, and ignored them now in favor of retrieving his bag from Percival to pull the fresh splint and salves he would need.

"Gauis!" Sir Brennis' voice boomed through the room before he swept in. He was a young knight, and had been a friend of Arthur's before Merlin came around. In the years after, Brennis had grown into a fit and handsome noble and was fully aware, and maybe a tad too proud, of all three of those traits. His voice lowered into disdain when he saw Percival. "I see you've brought company."

"I called to see how you were faring, Sir Brennis." Percival had no outright emotion to color his voice, and he seemed perfectly respectful.

The same could not be said for Sir Brennis, who replied haughtily and with obvious dislike written across his features. "I am getting along nicely, Sir Percival. No need for more house calls."

Percival nodded at Gaius and strode past Sir Brennis who made no move to allow Percival more space to pass through the doorway. "I look forward to seeing you on the training grounds shortly, then."

"Quite so."

Percival squeezed past, and from the entrance room turned back to Gaius with a smirk and a wink, then disappeared out of the front door.

Gaius' raised eyebrow belied his continued confusion on the encounter, though he noted the hostility, or perhaps rivalry, between the two men and held his tongue on the matter.

—

Merlin woke with the sun, and after his usual routine, he grabbed the stripped branches of dogwood he'd gathered yesterday. The night before he'd hung them over the coals to quick dry them, and this morning he quickly crushed them to powder with a silent burst of magic.

He sighed. It felt nice to not have to worry as much about being caught, though technically it was no less dangerous here than anywhere else in Albion.

He added water until he'd created a paste, and then kissed his mother quickly on the cheek as he left for Alane's hut. It was a smaller village, but the plots of land spread wide behind the ramshackle houses, making villagers much harder to find during growing seasons.

A few of the folk waved to him, having seen his fairly dramatic arrival yesterday, and Merlin waved back jovially before arriving at Alane's. He hardly knocked on the door before the elder man opened it.

Alane looked caught between wanting to apologize and wanting to save his pride, so Merlin spoke up first. "I'm an apprentice to the Court Physician. May I check your injuries?"

Alane nodded and opened the door wider to admit him in. Despite the village being as small as it was, he hadn't been in Alane's hut even as a child. It was sparsely decorated, with a coal pit in the corner and a table for two in the center. A small sack of seeds sat upon the table, and it appeared Alane had been in the middle of counting out what remained of his stores before Merlin had arrived.

"This is a tincture of dogwood, though it could use a few more drops of water." Merlin held out the small bowl he'd carried from his mother's hut. "Apply it to the worst of the bruises and it will help with the swelling and pain."

Alane's face flashed with guilt, and he took the bowl appreciatively. "Thank you." He gestured for Merlin to sit. "I don't have much to offer in the way of food or drink. My family truly appreciates what you did for us."

Merlin waved off the praise and the space between his brows creased as he turned a questioning look to the man. "Can I ask why you had nothing to offer for taxes?"

"I gave my usual allotment to my sister's family after I heard about the increase," he shook his head in self-deprivation. "I expected them to be angry with me, but when he struck me down in front of everyone…" he trailed off and glared at the wall.

Merlin began to murmur something supportive, but the man stood abruptly from the table and moved to a corner of the room. He bent down and appeared to dig where a ring of flattened dirt had poked through the old floor. When he stood, he carried a small iron chest tightly in one dirt-covered fist.

He sat again in front of Merlin and unlatched the chest, within which a litter of coins jangled. He held three pennies to Merlin. "I could take the beating, but I won't take your charity. Not when I can walk down the way and see your mother in the same position as I."

Merlin looked at the coins held to him before pushing Alane's hand back. "I'm sure you had a good reason for holding on to this. Instead, watch out for my mother for me when I'm not here, and I'll call it more than even."

Alane looked wounded, his pride taking a hit from the fact that the younger man could actually choose to refuse three whole pennies. He replaced the coins and closed the lid of the chest gently. He obviously still felt indebted to Merlin's help, so he took a deep breath and began to spill a few more secrets. "This is Aila's dowry."

Merlin startled at the implication. Peasants never followed that tradition—it was reserved wholly for the nobility. "Who—?"

"The youngest son of a minor baron." Both men knew this meant the son would at most be nobility only in name. A minor baron being the lowest rank of the nobility, the father would likely have little to pass on to his children beyond a bit of money or land. "Her life may be no different, but there will always be hope that she can have a life other than this serfdom." Alane grasped the chest as if his life depended on it. "And if not hers, than maybe my grandchildren's."

Merlin didn't respond. He found himself with no words for this man. He could understand Alane's risk, and need to risk, but he had also grown up with Aila. He expected she wasn't excited to leave everyone she'd ever known, perhaps forever, to marry a man who'd likely wandered through Ealdor some random afternoon.

"Where is she today?" Merlin asked.

"She's at my sister's helping with the children. They're trying to turn the feed sacks into trousers for the little ones." Alane wiped a weary hand across his brow. "They're growing so quickly."

Merlin nodded and stood. "Perhaps I'll come visit her in the evening then. I want to help my mother sow a part of the fields before I leave."

He let himself out.

—

 _Sir Brennis' broken wrist was healing nicely, and it was true the man would be back to archery and sword practice with the rest of the knights shortly._ Gaius exited the Pelham manor with a nod to the butler, and stowed Sir Brennis' used wrappings in his bag. After a good washing, they'd be of great use to any patient in the Lower Town.

Based on today's developments, Gaius had deduced this knight's injuries were somehow connected to Percival. Gaius never had gotten the full story from either man. Regardless, he was sure Percival was in no danger, and so his interest in the small drama quickly waned.

Across the thoroughfare and around the corner stood the entrance to the Morholt residence, his second patient of the day. This was another major noble family in Camelot, and Sir Morholt had been an elder knight in Arthur's army. Unfortunately, the emphasis there was on 'had', as Sir Morholt had died in Morgana's and Helios' joint attack. Now, the old estate was shrouded in mourning-black, and the grounds remained subdued despite the length of time since the patriarch's death.

After entering and the usual pleasantries, a young serving woman led Gaius to the Solar of the late Morholt's wife. Gaius entered the room with a bow, but the thin, hawkish woman hardly noticed. Instead she reclined all in black, staring out at the sunlit grounds below as if they were personally insulting her. "Mistress Vanora," he said to catch her attention.

She angled her body to him as if it took great effort. She made a plaintive sound and held her hand out, to which he ambled closer and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. "Oh, Gaius," she said, "this has been so difficult for me. And after losing my first husband I thought—" She paused dramatically to dab at her eyes.

Gaius studied her act dispassionately. He had long ago noticed the way she glanced furtively at him or others, taking pleasure in the thought she was fooling them. "Perhaps more essence of poppy will help."

"Oh I suppose," she said offhandedly. Gaius retrieved a highly diluted vial from his bag and placed it on a nearby vanity.

"Just a drop or two in your morning tea if the depression is crippling you," Gaius added.

She sighed heavily and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Is anything else bothering you, Mistress?"

"It's just that…oh it's silly." She lapsed into silence, but was obviously waiting a cue from Gaius. He found himself happy that he hadn't brought Merlin along for this visit, as he was sure that boy's tongue would find itself in trouble right about now.

"I only want to help you."

Mistress Vanora swiveled so she faced him. "My husband was a respected knight and member of the court. After his death, the king hasn't come to visit even once." She put on a teary countenance. "Do you think I've angered him?"

She then glanced around for the man everyone knew to be King Arthur's manservant. When she didn't find him, she turned hopeful eyes back to the court physician. "I'll mention it to him when I see him next, Mistress."

"I'd be mortified! Please, that will not be necessary."

"I'll be subtle," Gaius said with a parting bow. "And if I fail, I'll tell Merlin to drop a hint."

"Oh, Gaius, you are a dear." Mistress Vanora stood quickly, smoothing her black gown and stalking towards him with strength she hadn't previously appeared to have. Her eyes were bright and her smile wide and triumphant. She held the door open for him. "Thank you for the potion."

Gaius bowed again and made his own way back outdoors, hardly managing to suppress an eye-roll. In the safety of the bustling streets of Camelot he heaved a huge sigh and shook his head in exasperation.

Well, at least all of that was over with. Still plenty of time in the day, and some spare coin in his pocket. He fancied he'd grab some broth and bread from an inn in the Lower Town and see if any of the folk needed remedies.

—

As he'd promised, Merlin returned to Alane's hut before the evening grew too long. A quick glance around showed him Aila wasn't in the main house, so he trekked around to the back, where a shed for housing animals had been erected.

Within was the young woman, and she was currently bent over spreading feed to the family of ducks they were raising. She wore a simple frock and a white apron tied securely around her thin waist. He stepped through the gate.

"Ai." Merlin smiled and the young woman whirled around, her blonde hair streaking around her. Merlin couldn't help the small flutter in his chest as he saw her full-on; she had grown even more beautiful over the years. Her skin looked luminous, and her eyes a clear light blue like the tiny flowers of the fields. Her pale pink lips quirked upwards as she caught his face, and she stepped quickly to him, arms wide for an embrace.

"Merlin!"

They pulled away quickly because their relationship had always been of friendship, and his eyes zeroed in on her neck where a thin leather cord and river pebble pendant still hung. It made him smile, because it was proof still that she would always love Will.

She caught his glance, and her hand curled around the necklace. Her posture was a mixture of strength and desperation that wasn't lost on Merlin.

He grasped her elbow lightly. "Can we talk?"

She nodded and led them out of the shed. She placed the feed basket on the ground and closed the gate behind them, leaning against the wooden beams so they could watch the sun speckle the clouds in orange as it lowered towards the fields.

They were quiet for a long moment.

"Are you going to go through with it?"

"Yes, I think so. There are not many rational choices otherwise." She sighed, and her head fell back against the gate. After blinking at the sky, she rotated to face Merlin and grew an innocent smile. "Tell me about Camelot."

So he did. He wove her the best of Camelot and mentioned nothing about Morgana or magic or Uther, unless it was to chuckle about the troll. He left her in awe of the shining, towering, white walls of the castle. He told her about the chivalry and heroics of the knights. He even told her about Arthur's dirty socks.

"It sounds so beautiful. Too good to be true."

"It nearly is."

"Perhaps you'll take me one day." As she said so, the brilliance of her smile faded. She nearly returned to the woman of the shed—the one that clenched Will's gift and had hoped for anything but his sacrifice.

"I hope so."

She reached carefully for his shoulder, and when he didn't push her away she smiled a wavering smile. "Maybe you'll take me with you tomorrow."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she distracted him. Her other hand braced her on his other shoulder and she brought herself to her toes, leaning her weight against his body as she pressed her lips to his.

It was a sweet kiss, one he didn't mind returning. Though neither her beauty nor her sorrow could dispel the feeling that his childhood friend was standing just to the side.

"Ai," the hesitance in his voice made her back away, and an embarrassed flush grew on her cheeks. "I'm flattered, I am. I—"

Her eyes lowered, and she interrupted him quickly. "I understand. I couldn't do that to him either." She sighed and leaned against his chest, and he wrapped an arm tentatively around her shoulders. "Did he have magic like the king said?"

"No," Merlin insisted fervently, and then groped for an excuse to explain away the cyclone. He quickly realized he didn't need one, because she was asking for a wholly different reason. "He was a good man. He never lied to you."

"So he really did love me?" She whispered.

He squeezed her as assent, and then spoke so softly she mightn't have heard him had she not been so close. "I'm sorry I didn't save him."

He saw the streak of tears running down her pale cheeks, and she pressed her face closer to his chest. "There was nothing you could do, Merlin." She sniffed and dug her fingers into his tunic. "Right?"

Merlin held her closer and listened to the quiet sounds of her crying as the sun slunk away. He never answered her.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Sir Brennis is a real character from the series, though he's only mentioned by Gwaine who says Percival broke Brennis' wrist while arm-wrestling at the tavern. He's the Middle Ages equivalent of mid-twenties, or whatever age Merlin and Arthur are supposed to be at this point.  
(2) The Pelham family crest is actually some bird thing. It was weird and I'd already chosen the name, so I changed the crest to a bow and arrow.  
(3) Mistress Vanora is the Middle Ages equivalent of early forties. She's twice a widow, so I think mistress is a reasonable name. The bad connotation of mistress is more common nowadays I think. In the middle ages I'd say they'd call a woman adultress if it was a noble woman sleeping with another married man.

 **Author's Note:**

I'm trying to give the main political houses' main people different honorifics so it's easier to tell them apart. So, now you've met the Pelhams and Morholts: Sir Brennis the manly, stuck-up knight and Mistress Vanora the manipulative, prideful widow. Fairly one-dimensional at the moment. I'm okay with that. They're OCs after all.

To continue talking about OCs, Aila is just a random extra. I need buckets of OC's to move this plot forward. A normal assortment from the bucket is going to include female's of courting age, and maybe some will be interested in Merlin. I don't see this as completely farfetched. I think for Ai in particular, she notices that Merlin is a bit of a hero, and a part of her thinks he may be her hero. She's wrong though. Poor Ai :(

I did like the idea of Merlin revisiting the loss of his childhood friend in some way, it was so sudden and never mentioned again in the show, but I think it's important. I had questions like, what happened to Will's family, and do they condemn him for being a secret sorcerer? Instead, Will's fiance appeared in the story and that was actually very fun to write.

Mersan123, thank you for the second review! Another side to Merlin in this chapter. I love the quirky servant sorcerer part of his character, but there is so much more to him that I'm excited to write. Never wise to make deals with ancient creatures, didn't Merlin learn that with Kilgarrah?

And to my two new followers (12 now!) thanks for reading!

 **Next time:** Me, Thyself, and I. A brollachan escapes from Uther's long abandoned chambers, and Gwaine helps Merlin take it down.


	4. Me, Thyself, and I

—

 **Me, Thyself, and I**

 _The Nones of April (April 1-7)_

Cool air blew through the flimsy sleeves of Merlin's tunic, relieving him of the thin sheen of sweat that covered his body. Silence covered the forest like a blanket, the only sounds the crunch of his boots on branches, and the rustle of leaves as small creatures fled from him.

The walk back from Ealdor had taken longer than he had anticipated, and the moon already rose a quarter of the way into the night sky. He had pushed himself despite the dark hour, hurrying to reach the boundaries of Camelot's walls.

The cool breeze meant he was close—wind usually bent around Camelot's walls to dissipate in the woods nearby.

Merlin pointed his eyes to the sky, and he wove through the thinning trees until he broke onto the main road. The tall towers of the castle, their windows glinting from candlelit hallways, immediately stole his attention. In the darkness of the surrounding forest and roads, it was a tower of light.

He would truly never get used to the beauty of Camelot.

—

Arthur woke the next morning exactly on time, and it wasn't due to anyone shouting _Rise and Shine_ at him.

In fact, it was due to Gwen's impeccable work ethic. The woman was up at dawn every morning, and he had a feeling she wouldn't be trained to let him sleep in, unlike Merlin.

Where _was_ that fool? Oh yes, Ealdor. Bother.

"Guinevere, perhaps it is time we got you a maidservant." For the sake of another hour of sleep, _please_.

She ran the brush through her hair once more, and looked at him bashfully through the locks. "I've taken care of myself for years…"

"Let someone help you. There is no shame in it. Besides, I'd feel better knowing there was another around to keep an eye on you."

Her expression froze. "I would not—"

"Not what I meant," Arthur cut in with a chopping motion of his hand. "I just want you to be safe. Morgana is still out there, and we both know how much she resented you becoming queen."

Gwen accepted the reasoning, though she wondered what any servant could do against the witch. She twirled the fine-toothed brush on the vanity. Ironically enough, it had come from the Lady Morgana's bedroom set. A wonder they hadn't burned everything.

"What's wrong, Guinevere?"

She gave him a look that said _Do you really not know?_ "I worked alongside all the potential maidservants in Camelot. I feel guilty when I think of ordering them to clean up after me, knowing I could pick up after myself."

"You're _The Queen._ "

"And last Yule I was a serf."

Arthur huffed, and rubbed at his bleary eyes as he mulled his options. "What are your thoughts on a lady-in-waiting?"

"Whom were you thinking of?"

He hadn't decided on anyone in particular, but now that she asked he ran through the noble woman who would expect the offer and make his life a migraine if he didn't. "Osra?"

Gwen blanched. "She's older than Gaius!"

"Alright then, Lyvieve."

Her face pinched in a way that made her look like she'd swallowed a sour piece of fruit. "Do I have no other choice?"

"Unless you want to deal with a political earthquake if we pick some random knight's wife."

"Can I think about it?"

Arthur nodded. "But close the curtains while you do." And then he flopped back into the pillows.

—

Little Nellie's mother worked under old-nose-man and fussed over stitching and colors and layers of dust _behind_ furniture that no one could even _see_.

But after Ostara, Nellie had arrived at the age where want of income left her legal and able to pick up her own job around Camelot, and because of Mother's connections—but more likely her stern talking—Nellie found herself a linen maid.

She knew all the secrets now. She could smell like a noble any time she wanted!

Nellie waltzed down the hallway, feeling pretty and powerful in her new pink dress with her new job. In fact, just this morning Mattie had taught her how to carry a basket on either hip, and she flaunted her new powers to all passersby.

Then, in her proudest moments, while her head was thrown back and her hair in a neat plait that her mother had set last night, the king and queen rounded the corner. Nellie curtsied in what must have been the most elegant curtsy of the century. The king noticed.

"You there," he said.

Nellie looked up at him, and then quickly averted her eyes to Gwen. She knew Gwen. Not well, but she knew her. The Queen smiled warmly and it laced through and reinforced the confidence Nellie had built up throughout the past week.

"We need my father's old chambers and solar cleared out." He began to walk away, but called abruptly over his shoulder. "Get Merlin to do it if you can find him."

Nellie nodded at his retreating back, and curtsied again at nothing. She gathered her baskets quickly and hurried to the laundry room so she could spill her story in a bubble of excitement. Mattie said she hadn't seen someone so excited to clean in years.

What Mattie didn't understand was Nellie had already imagined how impressed the king would be at her skill, and would likely praise her in front of the entire court. She'd do another curtsy—she had practiced them and it would pull off perfectly—and the knights and servants and _everyone_ would be awed at her new dress and—

Nellie went off into her own little world as she hurried happily to the late King Uther's chambers. She had to scurry through the Throne Room, but at this hour it lay empty and she passed through unnoticed.

The door to the chambers unlatched easily under her small hands, and it creaked open into a dimly lit, but dust-free room. Old-nose-man had done a good job with upkeep.

The room still held the arrangement from when King Uther had fallen ill. Nothing to be tripped over upon the floor, yet littered with tables and chairs and dressers that acted as makeshift hand-rails. The Court Physician's wooden stool still sat in the corner.

The entire room would need redecoration, but that could wait until she'd carted down the unnecessary items from the solar. She darted up the stairs at the west end of the chambers, and rounded their small spiral into the upper story. Here, larger windows let the light of the day in, and the colors of old jewels and velvets shined bright. The place was littered with the elder queen's—Nellie forgot her name at the moment—objects. Even a wooden, yet breaking at the seams, cradle still resided within an abandoned room. If you considered that lady's death, it likely had never been used.

Nellie shrugged, never having overly concerned her young mind on the affairs of state.

She began with what she knew—linens and clothes. She stripped every piece of fabric in the room, balancing on wardrobes and tables and feeling like quite the gypsy act, until she had piled a heap of cloth in the center of the room. This was bundled downstairs and left in Uther's chambers. Then she hurried to the dressing room, searching the wardrobes and pulling out the old gowns that were too moth-eaten for even her mother to mend.

Finishing with the standing cabinets, she moved to the chests. The few lining the walls taught her to bring a pile of cloth to kneel upon to prevent excessive bruising on her knees, but none prepared her for the last large, heavy, behemoth of a chest. It sat flush against a wall, was decorated in gold plating, and looked like it hadn't been opened in decades.

She fumbled with the latch, her small and dexterous fingers useless against the years without grease. Yet, with a final heave and a satisfying _pop_ , the lid unhinged, and Nellie peered into its depths—looking for the missing wedding and ball gowns.

At first she saw only darkness, yet it was an odd sort of darkness. It felt like fog. Though in the light of day, what could it possibly be but a sudden dizziness? She reached her hand within, groping beyond her sight for what surely lay beyond.

And then she shrieked.

—

Gwaine cocked his head to the side, his loose brown hair brushing his shoulder. "Did you hear that?"

He and Leon walked down a corridor, making their way to the higher catwalks of the castle. "Are you trying to avoid guard duty again?"

"It's _boring_."

"I will be there," Leon replied, _as if that solved anything_. He turned back forward again and continued at a brisk pace, and Gwaine had to skip to keep up.

He mulled over the scream he had heard, trying to calm the chivalry that wanted to rush off to save whomever made it. Rationally, he knew that a servant dropping a pot and shouting about it was much more likely than whatever he conjured in his mind.

A lady in red interrupted his thoughts, and he paused to give her a short bow as she waved flirtatiously. Leon clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I know, I _know_ —"

"I heard it this time."

Gwaine tore his eyes from the voluptuous woman, immediately serious. _I knew I should have trusted my instincts._ Both men listened intently, and the faint sound came again. Absolutely a young girl's scream.

"This way—" Leon said as Gwaine took off for the throne room.

Gwaine shoved open the large wooden doors and hurried to skirt around the Round Table. No screams reached them now, but the sound of muffled thumping echoed through the cavernous hall. He had been certain it was coming from here. He looked to the two servant's doors recessed into the left wall, then up into the balconies.

Leon caught up to him then, and joined him in the center of the room.

"Where is it coming from?" Gwaine asked, gesturing to the surroundings as the wild thumping continued.

Leon looked about him just as puzzled, and then he pointed up at the balcony above the throne. "From King Uther's Solar. It explains the echo." Leon's face set, and he turned to Gwaine as Captain of the Guard. "Wait here," at Gwaine's inevitable counter he held up a hand. "I check it out first. You follow as the element of surprise."

Gwaine nodded, looking grumpy, and Leon leapt onto the dais before bursting into Uther's chambers. He cleared the room with a glance, then drew his sword and jogged up the stairwell.

The Solar was littered with both female and male clothing, and everything with a door was wide open, leaving many corners hidden from view. The screams had already made Leon nervous, and the amount of hiding places only heightened that.

Though after only a few steps into the room, he saw the child. She was alone, thrashing upon the ground as if ghouls were upon her. He quickly sheathed his sword and gathered her in his arms.

In those few moments, Gwaine had snuck into the room, seen the girl, and sprinted back out yelling, "I'll get Gaius!"

—

A Knight of the Round Table running through the halls was an intimidating sight, and everyone gave him a wide berth.

Except for Merlin, that was. When Gwaine hurtled into the courtyard, the man froze and his blue eyes grew comically wide. At the last moment he put his hands up to hold back the barreling knight, but Gwaine swiveled on the spot, grabbing Merlin's wrist and dragging the man behind him.

"What did I do?!" Merlin asked in a panic.

"Girl frothing at the mouth in Uther's chambers!" Gwaine let go of Merlin and turned towards the East Tower. "Right—I was getting Gaius."

Gwaine moved off and Merlin hurried for the Throne Room. By this time, the commotion had drawn others, and tittering servants stood in clusters, curious, but not so curious as to go into royal chambers without permission.

A few of the servants caught his eye and started to move aside, but a second burst of motion drew their attention. An older woman had stridden into the room, her cheeks red from her obvious hurry, and her hands clenched tightly into the folds of her skirt.

She saw the crowd of people and her breathing picked up, her panic growing as the scene confirmed the rumor. Merlin swiveled to her and grasped her upper arms tightly, trying to keep her up as the woman began to sway on her feet. He raised his voice, "Please everyone, you'll help more if you leave and bring Gaius here!"

A boy stood nearby, and Merlin called to him, "Do you know what peony looks like?" After the boy nodded, Merlin asked him to pick some and bring it.

The servants slowly moved towards exits, more eager to catch a new scene in the drama than listen to him, and Merlin wrapped an arm around the woman to further steady her. He tried to draw her towards the sounds in Uther's room, but her dead weight fought him as she muttered desperately about her daughter.

Then the doors to the throne room swung wide again, and Arthur strode in flanked by Gaius and Gwaine. "Everyone out!"

His yell ran through the crowd like lightning, and their exodus flipped from a trickle to a surge. In the commotion, Arthur's eyes caught Merlin's. It was enough for them both to understand the other's confusion. Arthur's face tightened, and he passed by his friend to open his father's chambers. Merlin helped the woman inside, and then settled her into a chair as Gaius swept by him.

Upon the king's deathbed lay a small girl in a pink dress. Her dark blonde hair lay in a wild array around her head and Leon was holding down her hands as the girl kicked and shrieked. Small streaks of blood on her face and under her fingernails explained his restraint.

At this sight, the mother howled, and Gaius pulled a sleeping draught from within his pouch as he strode for the bed.

"This is not a seizure," Gaius said quickly. "Look, her eyes track the room." He unstoppered the vial. "Help me, Merlin."

Merlin moved to the physician's side, smiling apologetically at the young girl as he worked to open her jaw. Her eyes snapped to him and her body stilled.

Her jaw became slack, and Merlin held it open as Gaius poured in the liquid. She growled something around his fingers, and reflexively swallowed. After Merlin pulled his hand away, her head fell to the side and a dark smile inched across her face. "You," she rasped.

Then her eyes fluttered and she fell asleep.

Arthur was already at his side, drawing him away with a stern expression.

"I have never seen her before," Merlin said quickly.

"If everyone doesn't stop thinking I'm accusing them of something, then I really _am_ going to get suspicious."

"What have you got to be suspicious of _me_ for?" Merlin said mockingly.

Arthur looked at him with squinted eyes. "Innocent, are you? Look me in the face and tell me you weren't at the tavern this morning."

"I—" Merlin stopped his rebuttal and smiled self-deprecatingly. "Alright, so I may have been at the tavern, but I wasn't downing pints or anything."

Arthur rolled his eyes and shoved him away.

Merlin didn't take the abuse seriously, and dropped down to eye-level with the girl's mother. She had started to shake, her eyes never leaving her daughter's now prone form and Gaius' study of her vitals.

"She has been possessed!"

Arthur and Merlin shared a look, and Merlin got the woman to her feet. "Maybe we should get out of here for a bit. Let's get you some water."

"That's not my daughter," she sobbed.

"Gaius is the best in Albion. He will help her. And _we_ can help _him_ by taking a few deep breaths…"

"Something's taken her!" The woman yelled again and then fell to her knees in tears. Merlin threw a helpless look over his shoulder and snagged Gwaine's eye. With a tug of his head, Merlin pulled his friend over.

Gwaine immediately gave his friend a relieved smile. "I was feeling useless," he commented, "thanks for noticing." Merlin gave him an odd look, but Gwaine only cracked a smirk.

Together, Merlin and Gwaine pulled the mother to her feet, but sobs continued to rack her body. She was a ragdoll in their arms, and it made him feel even worse for the woman. He couldn't do much in the way of medicine, but he could help with conditions of the mind. So, Gwaine turned on the charm.

He flicked his hair over his shoulder and flashed a gleaming smile at her. "Did you make this dress? It's gorgeous."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I've never been so attracted to berthing hips."

She continued to shudder and mumble at intervals. Gwaine might as well have admitted to magic for all the listening she was doing. He huffed.

"Any ideas, Merlin?"

"Maybe a friend of hers can snap her out of it. If not, some rest and space from the problem will do her good."

The two men spent time taking her to the kitchens, where water dribbled down her chin, and bread made crumbs in her lap. After that failure they tried fellow servants—though the hook-nosed groundskeeper pushed them away saying they were getting underfoot. They ended draped on benches overlooking the physic gardens.

In desperation, Merlin had even tried to get her to help him pick weeds.

Gwaine patted the woman on the shoulder, trying to offer comfort but largely being rebuffed as she cried into her lap. "Merlin," Gwaine whispered. "I've gotten my quota of feminine tears. High time to trade places."

"I hear you. I'm staying right where I am."

"You're the physician!"

"Assistant!" Merlin argued.

The servant finally stood cradling a handful of greenery. He tucked them carefully into his pocket, trying to leave space to prevent them from being squished. _Hmm. Perhaps they weren't weeds._

The mother's mood shifted for the worse—again—and both Merlin and Gwaine heaved a simultaneous aggravated sigh, then looked at each other guiltily. Suddenly, Merlin's eyes brightened and he pointed over Gwaine's shoulder.

The knight turned, scanning the area. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Empty royal gardens, orchard, pond...none in the physic garden beside them. No one looking out of windows or trying to signal them from the parapet.

He turned back to Merlin with a raised brow, only to feel the woman slump against his shoulder. Merlin looked inexplicably sheepish.

"Guess she got tired," Merlin said. "Let's take her back. Gaius could use these ingredients."

—

That next day and third morning were spent in the same tedium. The mother wasted away in worry, and the girl woke only to have another sleeping draught shoved down her throat. Gaius worked tirelessly to diagnose her symptoms, but an irreversible brain illness seemed the only possible cause.

Gwaine was eventually pulled back to his duties, and various other servants cleared out Uther's chambers, though now for completely different reasons. Arthur and other knights came by occasionally to offer aide, and Gwen got in trouble for getting grass stains on irreplaceable clothing.

"If I could just have a 'royal' apron—"

"Guinevere!" Arthur raved, "I let you get an apron today, and tomorrow you'll be cooking Merlin breakfast."

"And what is so bad about that?"

Though, as evening neared on that third day, and Gwaine had seen neither head nor tails of Merlin, he finagled an evening route onto a squire and marched his able-bodied self to where his friend was likely slaving away. He'd do something besides be a lady's handkerchief this time.

His grand plans were dashed the moment he walked into the room. He was completely out of his element, and could do little else but watch the little blond girl growl and thrash in the bed. She still wore her pink dress, though now thrown food and traces of blood marred the pretty fabric. The mother had woken, and had curled into the corner while being distractedly hysterical. Gaius and Merlin had been involved in a rapid conversation, though they startled when Gwaine entered.

Merlin's welcoming smile was wide but strained. In his moment of distraction, the girl's small hand clawed upward and fisted in his tunic.

 _"You_ ," she said again.

Her teeth had grown yellower in the three days, and her sallow skin had darkened. Despite the hours of sleep, her eyes were red with blood vessels. The girl pointed sharply at her chest.

" _Me."_

She reversed the gesture.

" _Me….You."_ The grin belied an intelligence and plan that was frightening, but largely lost on everyone in the room.

Then the girl drew a finger across her neck. " _Me._ " They all understood that.

Merlin's eyes flicked nervously to Gwaine before connecting with Gaius. The elder physician nodded sharply, granting Merlin some hard-won acceptance. And in that moment, the mother pounced upon her daughter's chest, shaking the young girl by her shoulders.

"Get out of her—get out of her!" She chanted.

The girl rattled like a doll, and her head flopped back as her eyes rolled away into her head. Then with a shriek, her entire body stiffened and a black mass flew from her mouth.

Gwaine had his sword pointed at it before he could register fear.

The darkness pulsed, growing wider. It swiveled and went straight for Merlin, but the man ducked, swiping at it with a palm. A small battle occurred as Merlin stumbled through the room, batting the mass away as it struck again and again.

Gwaine leapt between Merlin and the thing, hefting his sword higher. "Try that against the best swordsman in the five kingdoms and see what happens to you!"

Small, piercing red dots glowed from the center of the darkness. If Gwaine hadn't known better, he'd say it was glaring at him. _Ah, there the fear was. A little late to the party!_

But Gwaine had learned to fight through small fears long ago. So he steadied his stance and swung threateningly for the shadow.

The creature rippled and gave up on its quarry. It spun in the air and focused its strange eyes on Gaius. Merlin shouted angrily and dove underneath Gwaine's arm to stand protectively in front of his mentor. The long line of his body had tensed, and his shoulders were thrown back in either foolhardiness or bravery. Merlin's face was hidden by the shadow.

Gwaine stabbed with his sword, a wave of force pushed him back, and the darkness fled from the servant. Merlin's hand went out to catch it, but it had already dissipated into the air, running into thin strands and wrapping tightly around the mother's face. In a moment it had slipped through the woman's ears, nose, and mouth, leaving her trembling.

Her mouth fell open and the shaking grew worse enough to topple her onto her daughter's body. The fingers on her hand began to flex and in a burst of movement her hands locked and tore for her eyes.

The woman was stronger than the girl, and in the minutes it took to subdue her and force a draught down her throat, she shoved Gaius harshly into the wall and had managed to kick both Merlin and Gwaine solidly in the stomach.

Gwaine collapsed against the wall and groaned. "What _was_ that? Actually—" he bent down and picked his sword from the ground, "that was definitely an evil spirit." He inspected the metal and then sheathed it. "We need to tell Arthur."

"No—" Merlin stuttered quickly. At Gwaine's raised brow, his mind ran a mile a minute to find an excuse. "What's he going to do? Stab it?"

Gwaine looked affronted, but he had learned many lessons in his journeys through Albion. One was to take things as they came, and another was to trust Merlin. "We should keep the king away from this magic."

"Exactly." Merlin turned wide eyes to Gaius, looking as if he were trying to pass a message through them.

Gaius' forehead creased in contemplation, and his light blue eyes studied the young man. Eventually he said slowly, "Perhaps we can draw it out with herbs."

Merlin nodded, relieved.

Gaius continued. "Gwaine, can you fetch some strong smelling herbs from the apothecary?"

Gwaine looked hesitant. "What kinds?"

"Oh, any," Merlin said lightly as he hurried from the room. Gwaine followed after.

"And where are you going?"

"The…library." Merlin's eyes shifted around. "I need to do some…research."

He hurried off and left Gwaine in his wake. Gwaine scratched at his scruffy beard and eyed Merlin's retreating back, wondering if his friend felt all right. Merlin _had_ just been attacked by a floating ball of evil, _and_ he was acting nervous and embarrassed.

Eventually he sighed. Merlin had proven many times that he could handle himself. Well, Arthur may argue against that, but Gwaine had plenty of proof. He shrugged. Once they got rid of this thing, Merlin would get back to normal.

—

Merlin plastered himself into an alcove and waited for a pair of guards to pass by. Even after the coast was clear, he remained and took a few extra deep breaths.

He had used magic _steps_ away from Gwaine. He'd been so preoccupied trying to prevent the creature from possessing Gaius that he had reacted without thinking. By some miracle Gwaine hadn't seen him.

 _Lucky_ , he thought to himself, _lucky, lucky, lucky._

He peeled himself off the stone and took another calming breath. He had to let it go. No point in getting worked up over something that had not even happened.

The path to the underground vault, where Camelot stored many magical items from the purge, was mostly void of guards. Arthur trusted his castleworkers not to come poking around in a place that everyone assumed only caused harm. Arthur also assumed any sorcery sympathizer would reveal themselves long before they made it this deep into the castle. Merlin snorted.

After one last glance down the corridor, Merlin snuck down the dark stairwell into the damp underground room. His eyes flashed and the cage's lock clicked open.

The sound carried in the chamber, and Merlin stilled as he waited for any sign of someone getting suspicious. When everything dulled back to silence, he cracked open the door and shut it behind himself.

In the vault there were elder spellbooks, many of them woven with dark magic. The nature of the creature possessing the females upstairs led him to believe that these books would be far greater help than the standard Book of Monsters.

Many artifacts were scattered about the vault, and Merlin made sure to not disturb any of them. The Crystal whispered to him as always, but he threw his focus into the task at hand, and that enabled him to ignore it.

The bell tower chiming the official setting of the sun seemed like a distant memory by the time Merlin replaced his reference books.

He had found mention of the spirit in a deep green tome from the third kingdom. In the north they called it a Brollachan. It preferred shadows and lonely places, and because of its shapeless form it coveted the shape of others. More importantly, the book had mentioned magical rituals that could entrap it.

He cracked his back and released his magic to let the blue glow of his light dim and disappear.

In a spellbook filled to the brim with darker magic, he found those rituals that could trap the brollachan. In fact, they could entrap _any_ spirit.

Merlin made his careful way back to the common passageways and then headed for Uther's chambers.

He had then gone further and studied possession spells. He had seen ways to forcibly put a spirit in another's body, and ways to temporarily take someone's spirit out. Part of Merlin—the innocent, purer part—recoiled at the thought of performing any of this horrifying magic. However, that part had grown small over the many years in Camelot, and now he would use the knowledge without a flinch if it meant saving lives.

He stepped into Uther's chambers and Gwaine jumped to his feet. "Where have you been? I looked everywhere in the library."

Merlin looked around the room. Gaius had kept Gwaine busy stringing up herbs along the walls and carefully burning them so their cloying scent hung heavy in the room. The mother and daughter slept peacefully side by side in the bed.

"I was researching a few details," he evaded.

He strode to a wall and grabbed a bundle of lavender at random. Then he quickly walked over to the bed and placed the small bouquet on the mother's head.

"There. Now everything is perfect."

While facing the sleeping woman, Merlin's eyes flashed and the chamber door shut with a loud _bang_ , followed by a _click_ as he shoved the lock into place.

The ring of metal followed as Gwaine drew his sword. "Merlin, get away from her—"

Merlin's eyes flashed again as he muttered a spell for sleep. Gwaine dropped to the floor in a heap. He spared a moment to look apologetically at his friend while Gaius frowned critically.

"How will you explain that?"

"Evil spirit magic, most likely." He spread a palm over the woman's sleeping figure and removed the barriers on his magic. It coursed through him, strengthening and empowering, washing away the fatigue of the day.

He recalled the guttural words and let them spill from his mouth. The darker magic tasted like rusted metal.

As the spell wove through the room, the candlelight dimmed until the glow of his eyes was the only spot of brightness in the dark. He cut a frightening figure, wreathed as he was in shadows and burning gold.

The brollachan spewed from every orifice in the woman's face, its small red eyes forming out of the growing fog. Merlin's curse ended, and it swirled, perhaps disoriented, trying to focus on Merlin and Gaius in turn.

It remembered Merlin's magic, and the dark mass slipped backwards warily. When it spied Gwaine's sleeping form upon the ground it jolted towards him. Merlin pushed it aside with another wave of force.

"Get behind me," he said to Gaius. Then he raised another palm and spoke, " _Forbærne."_

A ball of fire grew in his hand, and he pushed with his arm, sending it careening for the dark creature. It dodged for the door, aiming for the cracks beneath, but with a wave of Merlin's hand, another wall of force slammed into the fireball. The flame burst and flattened, and Merlin flung it towards the escaping brollachan.

It could not avoid the fire this time, and the magic burned through it. Unable to shriek, all it could do was spasm as fire crawled along its shrinking body.

It dwindled to nothing and Merlin lowered his palm, releasing the magic. He heaved a sigh and carefully withdrew his magic from his body and senses, closing it carefully within him. Doing this helped prevent instinctive magic, and he imagined it had kept other magic users from noticing him.

The wall of the chambers looked a little singed, but nothing a good scrubbing wouldn't hide. He turned to Gaius. "Well, that's over."

The physician looked a little wide-eyed, but hurried over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. _When was the last time he'd used this kind of magic in front of Gaius?_

"Thank you, Merlin."

"No need for that, Gaius."

A groan sounded, and Merlin's eyes shot for Gwaine on the floor while Gaius turned to his patients.

He was right that it had been Gwaine, and the knight groaned again as he rolled to his back. "What happened?"

"The herbs worked. I guess it saw you as the greatest threat and took you out first."

Gwaine got to his feet and tightened the grip on his sword. "Where did it go?"

"It um… well um… the lavender…" Merlin scrambled and Gwaine tilted his head curiously to the side.

Gaius cut in. "It couldn't live long without a host. It disintegrated."

"Yes, that." Merlin nodded rapidly.

"Hmm," Gwaine said and sheathed his sword. "Then I owe you thanks for protecting me during my nap."

Merlin's wide smile slammed onto his face. Gaius, pleased to see Merlin so happy, made an excuse to let him off for the night. Gwaine didn't need to be told twice, and swept the man under an arm and marched him away.

"How's your head?" Merlin asked, a hint of apology in his voice.

Gwaine knocked on his skull. "This old noggin can take much worse than that."

"You were asleep the entire time?"

Gwaine shrugged, meaning _yes,_ but apparently for Merlin this was not enough. After the third nervous glance in his direction, Gwaine stopped them both. "That's it. Spill." He rounded on his friend and put a finger in his face. "What are you hiding from me?"

Merlin squeaked and his eyes shifted left and right rapidly.

Gwaine sighed mournfully and tugged Merlin along again. "I'm your friend, you know? You don't have to keep secrets from me. I'm not Princess."

Merlin looked regretful but deflected. "Where are you taking me?"

"Tavern. I need a drink after that ordeal," Gwaine grumbled.

His friend tilted back his head and laughed. Then he shook his head, as if tossing aside an errant thought. "I went to the tavern without you. That's the secret."

Gwaine clutched at his heart. "Do you mean to tell me Arthur was _right?_ " He muttered. "Great. What a betrayal." He looked at Merlin accusingly. "Now our next banquet I have to dance with whatever _noble_ girl Arthur picks out. No wonder he was looking so smug."

Merlin snickered, then put a hand over his mouth when Gwaine glared darkly at him. "I wasn't out having some wild night at the Rising Sun. Joel saw me getting into Camelot as he was closing up and let me spend the night." He grinned. "And have the last pint out of the barrel."

This didn't help Gwaine's mood. Merlin nudged him with his shoulder.

"How about, whenever this dance happens, I find a way to spill a jug of water on Arthur's head?"

Gwaine chuckled, and his arm swung round Merlin's shoulders again. "You, Merlin, are a true friend."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) In the story of the brollachan, it could only say "me" or "you".

(2) Nellie, her mother, and old-nose-man (the hook-nosed groundskeeper) are all new characters. So is Joel—I don't know who owns the infamous Rising Sun.

(3) Solar was generally where the lord/lady's family stayed, where the dressing room was, and the sitting room. I imagine Camelot's looks like a suite, and you get access through the king/queen chambers. The Solar could be on the second level. In the 5th season, we see an archer on the catwalks in the throne room. There are similar catwalks on the side behind the throne. I've decided this is a balcony that you can only get to through the Solar, and it's also why Leon tracked down the echo.

(4) The throne room in Camelot is a long wide hall, and there are windows on the right side. I've decided they're on the Eastern side for the best sunlight. Royal chambers were generally offshoot from the throne room or great hall. In the Camelot images, it looks like there are doors behind the thrones, so I think it makes sense for chambers to be there.

(5) Peony is a potential herbal remedy for epilepsy. Also might prevent blood clotting and act as an antioxidant.

(6) A place where specifically herbs were grown is called a physic garden. Orchards, fish ponds, royal gardens etc. would be elsewhere, maybe nearby.

(7) Scotland (in modern terms) is the third kingdom. The modern versions of the other four are Britain, Wales, Ireland, and Norway.

(8) Forbærne, of course, is the spell for fire.

 **Author's Note:**

This chapter works better in the timeline if it comes before the last one, so I'm going to rearrange them after I get to the sixth chapter. For now, I'm leaving them out of order to avoid confusion.

This was a huge chapter! I really enjoyed seeing the leadup and first battle from Gwaine's perspective, and I want to keep trying out that idea elsewhere. Gwaine is one of my favorite knights, definitely, so I really hope I did him justice.

I know there is also a secret room in the library, but I wanted a creepier place for dark magic research, so that will always be in the vaults. I don't plan on writing out any long-winded spells here. If everyone is like me, they just glance over the words when reading them anyways. I know the magic we've seen from Merlin is pretty standard and similar to what was in the show so far, and I do plan on expanding what we see later, but right now I just want a place to start from.

As for Gwen, her formality in the opening scene of S5 surprised me. It makes sense that her character would change after three years as queen, but right now I believe she is eager to please, happy to assist with all sorts of 'menial' tasks, and, likely, feeling more kinship with the servants than with other nobles. I want to show Gwen's growth into that queen in this story too. Also, fairly certain Arthur always calls Gwen 'Guinevere', is this true? Please correct me.

I expect Merlin was late in the morning because he spent the morning cleaning the inn/tavern to make up for a free night and free meal. :)

To my reviewers: Blown away by the response this time! Thanks to each one of you for your incredibly kind words! I can't describe how it makes my day when I catch such wonderful reviewers. DragonReader99, yes I hope I do the character growth justice. Merlin and Arthur _will_ become the legends they were always meant to be. Jewelsmg, sorry for the week long wait, and just after you asked for less waiting! I'm glad you liked the banter! To you and Mersan123, I hope to change things up as we go along so it feels fresh, but Arthur and Merlin are an absolute blast to write. Lilyflower1345, I am after 'fixing' season 5, though I never actually will write Season 5. I do plan on changing the story enough for the Golden Age to get here, and then who knows how things would be different when Mordred arrives. Nova, you're right that I'm trying too hard to introduce the council, and I am going to go about it slower. They aren't really needed for a while anyways.

 **Next time:** Gossip Girls. Merlin and Arthur are just shooting the breeze, and Arthur barely refrains from shooting Merlin.


	5. Gossip Girls

—

 **Gossip Girls**

 _The Ides of April (April 8-15)_

"Arthur, you're awake?"

Early, but not too early, in Camelot. The sun had risen high enough to spill through the eastern facing windows and across the desk Arthur slouched at. Littered across it were a quill, inkbottle, and many balled up papers.

"You're working!" Merlin used his fingers to hold back Arthur's eyelids and peer into his eyes, feigning a Gaius inspection.

Arthur batted his hand away with a scowl. "Is that breakfast?" Merlin nodded. "Good, I could use a break."

"What are you doing?"

"Fashioning letters to our allies. I want to introduce Guinevere."

"That's proactive of you."

"Yes, well, I've learned a few things since knighting Percival."

Merlin cleared up the desk and sat down the tray of food. "Where's Gwen?"

Arthur pointed at the ceiling. "Getting dressed."

Merlin glanced at the steps for the upper level. "That _is_ convenient." He noticed that far wall's usual war-hero tapestry had disappeared, replaced with an oil-based painting of Camelot's castle. Other decorations had changed and the layout maneuvered into a more inviting arrangement—Gwen had been busy. "So how is living in your father's chambers?".

"You mean the _king's_ chambers," Arthur rolled his eyes. "Besides, it was necessary."

Merlin cocked his head to the side.

"I couldn't have you bursting into my chambers with Guinevere in any state of undress."

"You act like that's so much worse than seeing you in any state of undress."

Arthur's face twitched. He had found it funny but used every etiquette lesson under his belt to keep that fact hidden. Instead, he shook his spoon in the air. "I know you want me, Merlin."

Merlin snorted. " _Maybe_ if you lost some weight I'd think about it."

The usual annoyed frowns and cheeky grins were made as the two men fell into the general comforts of their relationship. Arthur ate a few more bites of this morning's porridge before kicking out another chair from the table.

"Sit," he commanded. "How am I supposed to enjoy this with you hovering over my shoulder?"

When Merlin followed suit, Arthur shoved the fruit bowl at him.

"Eat."

"A feast fit for a king," Merlin said with sarcasm as he picked up a pear and nibbled at it. They ate in silence for a few minutes longer, enjoying the quiet of the morning before the storm of the day.

Eventually Arthur leaned back and yawned, patting his stomach. "Well, get on with it. What's the gossip?"

"Can't I sit here and enjoy this royal pear in peace?"

"You're a girl, Merlin. You're always telling me some inane story."

"Hardly." Merlin stuck his nose in the air. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you and just watch it bite you later."

"And here I was thinking I might get through this morning without having to threaten you."

Merlin harrumphed. "Gaius told _me_ that Mistress Vanora was hinting at _him_ to tell _me_ to tell _you_ that you have to go visit her or she's going to spread some terrible rumor about how you don't care about the knights."

"That's preposterous. Who would believe that?"

"That's the Mistress for you."

Arthur groaned. "I admit I've delayed a formal visit. Every time I visit her I leave wanting to dump a bucket of water on her head."

"Yet, you always settle for my head."

"That's for a completely different reason," Arthur said. "You annoy me every day, unlike Vanora who I only see once a season."

There were a few generic things he could say to that, but he'd save them for a different battle. Instead, Merlin stood and stretched his arms above his head. "I've heard a rumor that she's nearly out of money." He gathered Arthur's trashed papers and put them into the now-empty breakfast bowl.

"She bankrupted the last family she married into after her husband died." Arthur groaned. "If she ruins the Morholt estate then I'm going to be up to my ears in squabbling over who gets that family's seat in court."

Merlin moved over to the bed, pulling back the covers and starting to air out the sheets. "Can you make someone else head of house?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. She's the mistress of Morholt manor until the children get older."

"We can send her George." Merlin cleared his throat and made a proclamation. "It is I, the Royal Chamberlain, come to look down my nose at you whenever you do anything remotely improper."

"That is a sneaky and perfect solution." Arthur waved his hand with a flourish and barked a laugh. "It's got my stamp of approval." He turned in his chair and watched Merlin remove and fold the sheets onto the base of the bed. "George really could keep her in line until the eldest child is of age. I just hope he doesn't turn out like little Wyndham." Arthur muttered under his breath. "That lily-livered waif has got a seat right in the middle of the council table and I doubt he could even do _your_ job without asking his grandmother for help."

Merlin bent half of the thin feather-filled mattress onto its other side. "Really, Arthur? Did I deserve that?" He began to scrunch the flattened sections, fluffing and spreading the feathers.

"What, you want me to apologize? Then bring me something besides porridge tomorrow."

"If you're still hungry, there's an entire bowl of fruit right _there!_ "

Arthur turned his back on Merlin and placed a fresh sheet of paper in front of him. "Those are for you, Merlin."

"I'm touched, sire."

Arthur dipped his quill in the ink and smirked to himself. "They're more for throwing at you, actually."

Arthur listened to the muffled sounds of Merlin continuing to beat out the mattress. "Prepare yourself for rat stew the rest of this week."

He snickered and it splattered spots of ink onto the paper. Bother. At this rate Gwen would be writing her own introduction. He shrugged and decided to burn more time with Merlin. "Remember how Morgana ate the whole thing?" Arthur started to laugh. "We were going to tell her but she just kept eating and then it was too late. And then she burped and got that weird look on her face—" Arthur was laughing harder now. "And she asked us what was in it and you said—"

"I know what I said," Merlin mustered a grin. When it came to Morgana, he never could find much humor. Arthur had recently taken a new outlook. To him, there was Morgana, and there was the sorceress. Mutually exclusive.

"Hear any rumor of the witch while in Essetir?" Case in point.

Merlin had finished fluffing the mattress and began to fold the fine linen sheets back into place. "No. Nothing since Imbolc, when you got word from Nemeth that she'd been seen by villagers."

Arthur frowned. "Fie. I hate not knowing what she's up to."

"Where do you think she was heading?"

Arthur ran a hand through his blonde hair and moved to the eastern window. "Deorham is just west of Nemeth. Alined covets our lands and has wanted war since my father's reign." He stared down at the training grounds where three new knights were warming up with wooden swords. "But he's too weak to ever fight a war on his own."

"Maybe she's going for Odin. You have to cross through Nemeth to get to Cornwall, and he does hate you for killing his son."

"I thought we had a mutual understanding," Arthur narrowed his eyes, thinking back more honestly on his last encounter with Odin. "But we did part on shaky terms."

Merlin tugged down the hangings so they elegantly surrounded the bed. He passed a critical eye over the frames they hung from, but all looked in order. The light colored wood frame now hanging from the ceiling had likely been built new for Arthur and Gwen. "He may just be biding his time until he has the upper hand."

"I wouldn't doubt it." Arthur sighed. "Perhaps I should send some spies to see if he is building an army."

Merlin gawked. "We have spies? I didn't know that."

Arthur made a frustrated gesture at the training grounds. "I would send knights, _Mer_ lin _,_ how is it you couldn't figure that out?"

He ignored Arthur's taunt. He stood straight and said confidently, "I want to go."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

"If Morgana is there, I want to know."

"And what exactly are you going to do if the witch is there?" He said patronizingly.

Merlin pressed his lips together until they flattened into a thin line. Then he said, "Run back to Camelot as fast as I can, and then tell you everything I know."

"Well, I can't argue with that."

Arthur was looking so proud and haughty and prattish standing in the window with his hands clasped behind his back that Merlin couldn't help himself. "You never should argue with me, sire, I'm the brains in this partnership."

Usually this kind of cheek was enough to derail any conversation, but this time Arthur continued to look pensively down on the fields.

"Arthur? Are you all right?"

He turned to Merlin with a confused crease between his eyebrows. The tips of his ears had also reddened—proof that he was hiding embarrassment. "Did I really—"

A grin split Merlin's face, "You even hugged a tree, Arthur. It was glorious."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Royal beds in the middle ages would have one or two mattresses of straw or wool, perhaps with rough blankets in between, and then covered with a thinner feather mattress. Feather mattresses should be fluffed daily otherwise they become compact. Classic beds would have a headboard and a frame that hung from the rafters which the bed curtains could hang over.  
(2) The rat stew is from the first season. A unicorn is killed so there's a food shortage in Camelot and Merlin feeds Arthur rat stew.  
(3) I tried to explain the map of Albion through the dialogue but it was hard. There's a map on the Merlin Wikipedia page that I used.  
(4) Nemeth is where Princess Mithian is from. They are allies with Camelot.  
(5) Alined is the king of Deorham, one of the five kingdoms (Wales). In the (first?) season he tries to start a war during one of the peace talks.  
(6) Odin is the king of Cornwall. You'll remember him from the fifth season, though he and Arthur had lots of history throughout the entire show.  
(7) At the end there, Arthur is referring to the finale of the fourth season. I like to pretend Tristan or Isolde mentioned it in passing and Merlin found a way to explain it away. Merlin bewitches Arthur to be a simpleton.

 **Author's Note:**

At only 1600 words, this is the shortest chapter I have. It wasn't supposed to happen, but a small scene got out of control and so I lengthened it into this drabble chapter. I think I'll continue to experiment with this offshoot idea between one or two characters and just toss in these drabble things to break up the plotlines. I see it this way. I can't devote an entire major chapter to bromance, or a night at the tavern, or storytime around a fire, but I can absolutely write scenes like that to my heart's content with mini asides like this.

Whatever, too much explaining. Fun to write, hopefully a fun little romp to read as well.

I've been outlining the chapters in more detail, and I've got it laid out until mid-July. Maybe I won't have many readers, but I'm going to have a blast writing it. We're going to go to Gawant to see Lord Godwyn, we'll meet some Druids and have another Tournament of Camelot...I am just so excited to see, write, and flesh out all these places and people.

To my reviewers: Mersan123, I really appreciate you reviewing every chapter. I like how you said there are no "airs and fairs" when he's back in Escetir so he can be more of himself. I bet he's treated as more of an equal there now, maybe even respected. That's got to feel nice compared to Camelot, even if he loves Camelot and considers it home. Thanks again for your thoughts! Nova, thanks for the reviews too! I'm glad you enjoyed hating Vanora...I realized today that I should have been much slower in introducing new characters. But, too late, and anyway, I'll need them all later. And thanks for the tip with the scene dividers! Haha I agree and changed that to be centered too.

 **Next time** : Put A Ring On It. Arthur's former betrothed has heard of his marriage, and she sends Camelot a letter.


	6. Put A Ring On It

—

 **Put a Ring On It**

 _The Kalends of May (April 16-30)_

Albion gave Camelot a wonderful spring morning, and Arthur wasted it running around with an axe.

Merlin supposed he should count himself lucky—at least Arthur hadn't needed someone to hold the target.

He leaned over the low wooden fence that bordered the training grounds and watched the knights and squires go about their practice. It was a large green with much space for free battle, though dummies on crosses sat near the stone wall, and stands with hanging bags of dried seed crowded in an open area to Merlin's right.

The walls of the castle bordering the grounds were not high here, and Merlin could clearly see a set of guards leaning over the battlements, whiling away their day by watching the training below. A young man suddenly burst from the doors behind the guards, running up to them and pointing at the grass below. There was a brief and animated discussion before the man ran back inside and reappeared moments later out of the base of that battlement.

The door was directly across the field from Merlin, and because of the man's frenzied hopping from one foot to the next, Merlin decided to take pity on him and approach. He wore the green cap commonly worn by runners—Camelot's internal messengers, and though Merlin vaguely recognized him, he'd never directly met him before.

"Merlin, right?"

He nodded.

"There's a messenger from the noble house of Godwyn. He says he's got a letter for the king."

"I'll tell him," Merlin replied breezily. "Where's the messenger now?"

"He's waiting in the courtyard."

Merlin glanced in the direction of the courtyard and then back to Arthur. "He's probably traveled a long way. Why don't you take him to the kitchens for some food—and someone will have to take care of his horse I'd expect—while I get the king out of his armor and into the throne room. That poor man shouldn't have to deal with Arthur smelling like a boar."

This last comment surprised the runner, and his expression twisted comically as he was unsure how to react. Finally he nodded and tore away, heading back through the door to presumably to carry out the tasks Merlin had set him on.

Merlin turned to the field and shouted " _Sire!"_ across the expanse. Arthur finished a few extra hacks and turned to him, wiping his forehead from sweat. He approached.

"You don't have to request permission for bathroom breaks, Merlin."

"Though a break sounds nice, that's not what I'm calling you for. Lord Godwyn has responded to your letter about Gwen. Let's see how the cards fell."

Arthur nodded eagerly and pushed the axe into Merlin's hands. "I'll meet you in my chambers," he said. "Fetch Guinevere."

—

Merlin replaced the axe in the Armory and then searched the entire castle in growing frustration for its queen. Finally, he burst into Gaius' chambers to try to convince him to help, only to find Gwen leaning over a book at one of their small tables.

She looked up and smiled brightly.

"A message from Lord Godwyn arrived this morning," he said, "Arthur wants you to be there when we hear it."

"Ah," she said, and stood. She brushed bits of dirt from her skirt nervously. "Shall I head to the throne room?"

"We can go together; I'll have to help Arthur change his clothes." He grinned cheekily.

The two friends moved out into the corridor and began a quick pace to the ground floor.

"What were you reading?" Merlin asked.

"A book on etiquette," Gwen sighed. "It is probably the driest and most ridiculous thing I have ever read, but I don't want to make a terrible mistake and embarrass Arthur."

"I'm sure your instincts are better than whatever rules those old people made up."

She laughed. "Perhaps. But did you know that it's considered very rude for a man to offer their arm or hand to me if I did not initiate contact?" She looked pointedly at the hand she had tucked once again into Merlin's elbow. She smiled. "In fact, this is also very improper."

"Well, then I suppose I should read this silly book."

He grinned and they chatted a bit further about this year's spring and Merlin's growing vegetable garden. He told her about the newer knights that were at training today, though surely Arthur would ramble on about that later.

Finally they reached the throne room and slipped into the king and queen's chamber beyond. Arthur had washed his face and removed most of his armor in the time Merlin was absent, and was standing with his hands on his hips when his servant finally deigned to enter.

Gwen was a welcome distraction, and Arthur focused on her as Merlin scurried behind him to unlatch the shoulder plate.

"—our closest allies," Arthur was saying to her, "and I'm sure he was pleased at the news."

"And our other allies?" Gwen asked nervously. "It has already been so long."

"The other countries _are_ further away," he said, his thin excuse not doing much to dissuade her worries. "And often gifts are sent to new royalty or children. They are likely just preparing."

"Or they are biding their time, waiting to see what others say before they turn on us, Arthur."

"Who's telling you things like that?" He swiveled on Merlin and plucked him in the forehead. "Why are you telling the Queen things like that?"

"I'm just being honest!"

Arthur plucked him again and Merlin rubbed at the spot. Arthur turned back to Guinevere. "It would be preposterous for anyone to be upset about your upbringing. Truly idiotic. Besides—technically you and Elyan have been nobles since I knighted him."

"I doubt they're upset," Gwen frowned. Arthur removed the last bits of armor without Merlin's help and strode for the stairs to the Solar. "They may think you are weak for surrounding yourself with so many former peasants."

"Don't forget about me," Merlin quipped. "Still a peasant."

Arthur turned at the stairwell and fixed them both with a stern expression. His 'king face' Merlin called it. "What I feel for you, Guinevere, and for the knights is not weakness. If they mistake it as such, then they will be in for a surprise."

"No feelings for me?" Merlin piped up again.

"Oh I feel many things about you, _Mer_ lin. Irritation namely." He swung himself up the stairwell while beckoning Gwen to follow. "Now go fetch Lord Godwyn's messenger, and then clean up my armor from the floor."

Merlin muttered a few choice words under his breath, all in good spirits though, and hurriedly picked up Arthur's armor and placed it on the table. He'd deal with it later. Then it was to the kitchens and back into the throne room, where Arthur and Gwen were already waiting in their thrones, resplendent in their crowns and more formal attire.

He supposed presentation was important if the news turned out to be bad.

He ushered in the messenger through the wide double doors, and out into the center of the room. Light spilled across the ground from the tall windows and made the gilded decorations shine. As Godwyn's messenger bowed, Merlin stepped servilely to the side and studied both his friends' faces. They wore perfect regal masks now.

"What brings you to Camelot?" Arthur said.

"Lord Godwyn has a message for you, your majesty." He proffered a scroll still sealed in wax and ribbon.

Merlin stepped forward to receive it, and as he walked to deliver it Arthur stopped him. "Read it for the room, Merlin."

He nodded and cleared his throat, making easy work of the bindings. The scroll was short, and covered in elegant and unnecessarily intricate script.

" _King Arthur and the newly-crowned Queen Guinevere,_

 _News of your marriage falls upon glad ears. I, and all the citizens of Gawant, wish you good health and a long life together._

 _Please forgive me for a lack of a celebratory gift, for I have a different gift to offer. The Princess Elena has recently become engaged herself, and we are having a feast and dance in her and her betrothed's honor this Beltane. You and your court are our honored guests to enjoy this time with us._

 _Please send a response with my messenger, and we will be happy to receive you any time._

 _Your trusted ally,_

 _Lord Godwyn of Gawant"_

Merlin looked up and saw a wide grin stretching across Arthur's face. Lord Godwyn had been an old friend of Uther, so really, none of them should be surprised or had even worried in the first place.

"Tell Lord Godwyn the queen and I are honored to attend, and to prepare for at most five of our court."

The messenger gave him a small bow and began to retreat from the room.

Arthur added quickly, "Merlin will see to your horse and make sure you have a place to stay tonight in rest."

The messenger bowed again gratefully and waited for Merlin to lead him away.

—

By midafternoon Arthur had the castle in a tizzy trying to prepare for the journey while also scrounging up a suitable wedding present for Princess Elena.

Very sneaky of Godwyn, by the way, to avoid thinking of a gift by tricking Arthur into getting _him_ a present. He wondered if he could fake some other marriage to avoid this problem. Gwaine was looking particularly single right now…

Gwaine saw his calculating look and strode off quickly.

Fie. Well, that hadn't been a good idea regardless. Besides, Gawant had significantly fewer resources than Camelot, so a feast was a nice enough gift when considered relatively. Perhaps he could even find another set of servant ceremonial robes and get Merlin to parade around in them the entire time.

Where had those horrid things gone? He imagined Merlin had hid them somewhere. He'd ask if the man ever got back to pick up these bleeding lunch dishes.

At that thought Merlin banged into the room with an idiotic smile plastered onto his face.

"Well?" Arthur said, pushing Merlin to spill the news.

"The castle seamstresses will finish in time, provided that—" he cut himself off. "You don't need the details."

"You _are_ learning," Arthur said mockingly. Guinevere gave him a condescending look, so he proceeded more pleasantly. "And Vanora?"

"Ready and waiting."

Now that he and Guinevere would be gone until past Beltane, Arthur could no longer delay his visit to the Morholt's manor. So, he put on his cape, grabbed Guinevere for moral support, and marched himself to her front door. Merlin tagged along as his ever-present shadow.

Before anyone had knocked, the door swung open and a young woman bowed low before them. "I will take you to Mistress Vanora," she said in a clipped tone.

She strode away, and the king and queen followed with Merlin trailing behind. The exterior of the mansion was still draped in mourning black, but the interior had rich foreign tapestries and blue silks hanging upon the stone walls. Even the hallway leading up to the drawing room had a strip of woolen carpet running half its width, which the servant girl ushered the king and queen onto while she tugged Merlin onto the stone half.

Merlin and Arthur's eyes connected, and they couldn't help their cocked eyebrow.

They reached the drawing room as another servant left. Mistress Vanora stood before them, her hand smoothing down her eldest son's hair. "Run along now," she said quickly, beaming a smile. She gave a small bow. "Your majesties."

Gwen inclined her head and Arthur quickly pinched her in the side. "Mistress Vanora, thank you for making time for us on such short notice."

"It wasn't that short," she said brusquely, referring to the long wait between Sir Morholt's death and the present day. A fake smile stretched across her face and she giggled as if that had been meant as a joke. "Come sit. Tea?"

"Please," Guinevere replied respectfully.

The serving girl swept her long black braid over her shoulder and bent over the table, pouring the three cups with confident movements. "Anything else, mistress?"

"I believe tea is enough for now. Please wait outside, Miri."

The girl bobbed her head and her long lashes and dark eyes captured Merlin's as she swept by.

Merlin's mouth quirked as he weighed his options. Arthur's face had that long-suffering look that said, _Don't abandon me here_. He responded, _Don't be such a royal prat then,_ and smoothly bowed and exited the room behind the serving girl.

The girl had skin like a strong tea after milk had been poured within. At his exit, she leaned against the wall and smirked proudly, as if she'd won some game with herself. He saw a shade of Morgana in her but shook the thought away.

"I'm Merlin."

"Miri," she replied. She held out a hand for him to shake, and he did so, albeit feeling a bit foolish. He'd never shaken a woman's hand before. The cloth from her sleeve came loose and tumbled against their hands, and so when she drew away she loosely rolled the sleeve back up. Her entire dress was too large for her, he noticed now, and likely had been a hand-me-down.

"When did you begin here?"

"Recently," she rolled her eyes at the closed door behind them. "The mistress is so full of herself that other maid-servants don't last long for want of a sharp knife."

"I have noticed she likes to brag."

"Brag? She's always going on about this tapestry that Morholt got her from this land, and this painting and this feather…" she scoffed. "I'm the most exotic thing she's got, and I grew up in Camelot."

"Can I ask what…?" Merlin trailed off.

"Gypsy," she said matter-of-factly. "My parents and family traveled Albion until Uther's purge. Then it was too dangerous for unknown travelers, because in those days, everyone was being accused." Her words had sounded spiteful at the end, and she caught herself for the first time the entire conversation, and looked to Merlin with a hint of trepidation.

He chose his words carefully when it came to this subject, as always. He didn't want to bandy about his true feelings on magic. "Even Arthur agrees the purge wasn't handled ideally."

—

"The battle with Helios was not handled ideally," Arthur unknowingly parroted. "We lost many good men because we were surprised. Sir Morholt was a great knight, and I am very sorry to have lost him."

Mistress Vanora sniffled and wiped a stray tear from her eye. She then reached into the bosom of her blue gown and retrieved a dyed chicken feather. "He brought this for me from a distant land. He said they call them peacock feathers."

 _Looks like something you buy off of a peddler's cart of trinkets, if you ask me._

"I feel like, without him, I am trapped here." She continued bemoaning her fate. "This is my only remaining connection to the lands outside Camelot."

Arthur had no response to this bellyaching. He looked to Guinevere—always his better half. She looked perplexed, but her eyes had softened in kindness. "We are heading to Gawant in just a few days. If you—"

 _No, Guinevere, no!  
_

"Yes!" Mistress Vanora said brightly, all trace of mourning forgotten. "I would love to accompany you. I hear there will be a dance and a feast for the princess. There will be many other nobles there, yes?"

There was one long, loud groan going on in Arthur's head. Guinevere looked to Arthur for affirmation, but after seeing no sane response forthcoming, she nodded.

"Wonderful," Mistress Vanora said. "I am so honored to be invited to travel with the court."

Arthur stood and pulled Guinevere to her feet. "I'm glad," he said with a tight smile. "Guinevere and I shall leave you to your preparations then. There is a lot to pack in only a few short days."

"Of course," Vanora bowed deeply and sped to the door.

—

Outside, Merlin and Miri had been well occupied giggling about their masters. " _You did not call him that to his face!"_

Merlin chuckled. "At first he'd throw me in the stocks every week for it, but now he's used to it."

She leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered into his ear, "She's always flapping her arms when she's upset," she giggled, "So I call her My Dame Oiselle. It means the Bird Lady in the old language, and she has no idea." She rocked back on her heels and laughed under her breath.

"Aucelle," Merlin corrected. "Aucelle is the word for bird. You read old texts?"

"No!" She laughed at him. "I don't read anything. I can't. Besides, reading is for old stuffy men. People our age should be living." She tugged at his ears. "Your ears are cute."

"Miri!" The door swung open and the gypsy girl yanked her arms behind her back quickly. Arthur gave him a glare and Merlin did his best to school his amused expression. "Please escort the king and queen out, and then return to my chambers."

"Yes, my dame _aucelle_." Miri bowed and then swiveled to lead them out, passing a secret wink to Merlin when she caught his eye.

Well, perhaps it hadn't been so secret, because Gwen caught the look. She turned to Mistress Vanora. "Please bring Miri along with you. I could use the assistance of a maid-servant while in Gawant."

Mistress Vanora bowed deeply. "Of course, my queen."

Arthur brushed by, disgusted with them both. When they reached the main street he led them to an alleyway between homes and rounded on them.

"Guinevere!" He threw his hands in the air. "How could you invite her!?"

"Oh, what's the problem with it, Arthur?" Gwen huffed, and absently she picked her skirts from the ground to avoid the dirt. "She put so much effort into getting invited, and what harm does it really do?"

Arthur ignored her and pointed his anger at Merlin. "And you! You were just flirting in the hallway with a maid! You're supposed to be there to prevent things like this from happening!"

Merlin focused on the wrong thing. "I wasn't flirting!"

"Merlin's not here to help me read your mind!" Gwen shouted, her cheeks turning pink as she scolded Arthur. "I was fully aware—"

"No!" Arthur interjected angrily, "Now we _have_ to bring Lady Lyvieve too, otherwise everyone will be up in arms about favoritism—"

"Again, what is the huge problem here? They annoy you? Arthur," Gwen scowled and her chest heaved as she took a deep breath, "bringing Mistress Vanora, and I suppose Lady Lyvieve, is a good thing. They'll be so busy talking about the banquet that they'll stop complaining about _you_."

"I told you that you weren't the cranial half—"

"Shut _up_ , Merlin."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Lord Godwyn and Princess Elena of Gawant are canon characters. I explained their history briefly in this chapter and will explain the rest in the next, so I won't need to reference anything about their episode here.

(2) Miri is actually a gypsy name.

(3) My Dame Oiselle(French)/Aucelle(Latin) was the original form of mademoiselle. Not really meant the same way here, but it certainly helps with pronunciation. When I found out, I thought it was so interesting that I wanted to steal it in some way.

 **Author's Note:**

I keep giving Merlin these sweet, pretty girls who show him some interest, like Gwen in the first series. I think the Gnights expect him to court these girls, but we know Merlin never would or could. His life is just so different from theirs, and it's different in a way that cannot be explained. These small flirtations are just for my amusement. I need a way to reference all the Knights of the Round Table, Gwen, and Gaius. I've decided Gnights. If you have other ideas you've heard around the site, I'd love to know.

Also, I decided Gwen's fire-y personality needed to come out, she was being far too coy and nice.

I had this chapter done for a few days now, unfortunately did not have access to internet because I'm out of town. I'm glad I was able to sneak this upload in today, and I hope to make up for my slowness next week. I need to get everyone out of Camelot and to Gawant by Beltane, where my Introduction Arc is going to close with a bang. ;)

To my reviewers: Nenagh and Ladyliz2, I really appreciate you both commenting on how much research I've put into this. I had hoped it wasn't boring to readers! We've all grown up hearing about Camelot, and I firmly believe Camelot is just as much a character in this than any of the humans. I want the world to feel alive. Nenagh and Mersan123, I'm really glad you both liked Merlin's magic in Me, Thyself, and I! It is so much fun to write, and I can't wait to get him back in a situation where he'll need to use it again... Nenagh, thank you for the three reviews and the favorite! I feel very relieved that you mentioned enjoying the detail of the new characters. I do need them for the plotline, and the nobles are linked the the council, which is going to be important when Arthur starts passing controversial laws. Though after I bring Lyvieve in next time I am going to fade them out into the background for awhile. Jewelsmg, whew, glad Gwaine went well! Interesting that you would say Merlin would trust Gwaine with his secret. There is a reason Gwaine, Gwen, and Arthur are the main characters besides Merlin this 'year'. One of them is going to figure it out by the end...

 **Next time:** Lack of Study in Scarlet. The court finally begins their journey to the south, and Gwaine's smart mouth is unfortunately not left behind.


	7. Lack of Study in Scarlet

—

 **Lack of Study in Scarlet**

 _The Kalends of May (April 16-30)_

The tolling of the dawn bell echoed loudly through the stones of the castle and vibrated through his teeth. Gwaine stuffed his head further into his pillow and went back to sleep.

Morning tried again. This time, what woke him was the bustle of other knights actually following the rules. The clink of armor and the chatter of voices filled the space as the barracks came to life.

Gwaine rolled out of bed—his eyes still welded shut—and dropped his feet right into his boots. He pulled his old grey tunic over his head and felt around for his Camelotian red version. When he didn't find it, he blearily opened his eyes and found Percival grinning at him.

He turned back to his search and found the tunic a few inches to the left of his hand. He grabbed it and yanked it on.

"What are you so chipper about this morning?"

"I'm eager to be on the road."

After slipping the curtain of chainlinks over his chest, he began to latch his belt so it looked less like a dress. "I used to get antsy sticking around in Camelot for so long, too. But there's always something crazy going on here, so I keep amused." He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed at his teeth with it. "Got any food?"

Percival shook his head.

"Ah, well, nobody's perfect."

He traipsed outside and Percival followed a moment after carrying both of their cloaks. "You forgot this," he said humorously, tossing it onto Gwaine's head.

Gwaine patted the sword at his side. "At least I didn't forget this, then what kind of Knight would I be?" He stepped to the side to leave room for other exiting men as he fixed the cloak on his shoulders.

He and Percival had been some of the first 'commoners' to be knighted by Arthur, but they certainly hadn't been his last. As their ranks grew, Arthur had been forced to redesign an old supply room into a barracks. Home now was a wooden bed, straw mat, good blankets (he couldn't complain about those), and a personal cabinet.

As he finished the last clasp on the cloak, he spread his arms to the side. "How do I look?"

"Much too genteel."

Gwaine stuck his hands in his hair and shook it wildly. "How's that?"

Percival just laughed and moved on ahead.

The two friends passed Merlin streaking by with a breakfast tray on their way to grab a bite of food from the kitchens, and again with a red dress when they left the castle after. When they reached the stables, Merlin was already outside finishing the last latches on a set of horses. He thrust the reigns into their hands. "Will you pick up Lady Lyvieve and Mistress Vanora? They'll likely have lots of bags to carry and Percival is looking particularly sleeveless today."

"Of course." Gwaine proffered an apple. "I got this for you."

"Already had morning slop with Gaius," he grinned. "I'm going to check over Arthur and Gwen's packs again and ready their horses. Save it for later."

"Your loss."

Merlin moved back off for the castle, and he and Percival lifted themselves onto the horses. Gwaine sat on Merlin's usual horse, and Percival was on a dappled grey youth. It pawed its legs upon the dirt, eager to set off.

However, even as Percival flicked the reigns, there was no brisk trot to follow. Both horses were just finding out that they had been hitched to the royal carriage for the first time in their life, and it was about to be a long, slow journey south.

They trundled up to Lady Lyvieve's first. The Savile family manor wasn't as grossly large as the other prominent noble families, but it had its own luxuries. The patriarch was a long-standing member of Uther's court and council, and the favor had obviously done them well. But it was his niece that made him the talk of the town.

The infamous Lady Lyvieve exited the family house now, bedecked in Camelot scarlet and with her hair in resplendent curls atop her head. With eyes darkened with kohl she met the two Round Table knights properly for the first time. She held out her knuckles.

 _She expects me to get off this horse, walk all the way over there, and kiss her hand?_ Gwaine snorted. He then proceeded to jump off his horse, walk all the way over to her, and deliberately pat her on the shoulder as he breezed by. "Where are your bags, lady?"

Her painted red lips quirked upwards. "I've seen you before." She reached out with a finger, trying to trace it down his cheek. He jerked away. "Don't you recognize me?"

Gwaine caught her ploy to distract him from sticking to business, but he was also curious as to her game. Better to figure out what this noble wanted out of him so he could better prevent himself from giving it to her. "I expect we passed at the wedding. Were you wearing green or blue?"

"Red." Her hands slid over her hips and lifted her skirts so she could spin carefully as she showed off her dress. "It's my favorite color."

Gwaine made a show of thinking about it, though he had always been unfortunately aware of the Lady Lyvieve. It was hard for any man not to be. "Were you Lady Hugged-a-Pillar or Lady Danced-on-the-Table?"

"I'm Lady Kissed-Another-Lady." She grinned wickedly, and Gwaine caught her plan now. For whatever reason, she wanted him tied around her finger. "Would you say we're fully acquainted now, Sir Gwaine?"

"Lady Genevieve, right?"

"Lyvieve," she corrected in her throaty voice. "But my close friends call me Liv."

She offered out her hand again and he internally groaned with distaste. Nobles disgusted him in general with their inflated heads and ratlike personality, but this Liv gave him all new reasons to swallow a few tapeworms. "Pleasure, truly. Now did you say where your bags were? Or were you planning on wearing this the entire trip?"

"I'll lead you to them." She walked unhurriedly past him, perfectly arranging her stance and the angle of her head in order to entice. Gwaine noticed that his indifference appeared to be bothering her, and this put a skip in his step. Unfortunately, it caused her to turn on him when they were hidden from the outdoors. "Have I wronged you in some way?"

"Not that I can remember," he replied.

"You enjoy watching me suffer."

This escalated quickly. "Do I?"

"I enjoy being the center of attention. It makes me happy. I'm not evil for savoring what others freely give."

"Congratulations?" Did noble women ever make things not about themselves? "Look lady, I just need to get your bags so we can get moving to the Morholts. We're behind enough as it is."

—

At midday the clouds began to clump together, and what had been blue skies and white dots became a solid grey overcast sheet. The air had that metallic and heavy flavor that preceded a downpour, and Gwaine repeatedly caught Merlin with his head thrown back and tongue lolling out, claiming to catch stray raindrops.

Unsurprisingly, the rain did begin before long, and Arthur held up a hand to stop the small convoy and call the knights together. Gwaine trotted his horse forward and followed his king under a set of branches so Arthur could spread a map of Camelot out between them. Over Arthur's shoulder, Merlin was reattaching the queen's horse to the second harness as Gwen joined the other ladies within the carriage.

"It will be slow going for the carriage wheels now that the rain has started." Arthur traced a few paths with his finger before settling on a westward trail. "If we detour now, we can make this village before evening."

"I can go ahead and warn them that you and the royal prat-mobile will be surprising them."

Arthur gave Gwaine a withering look. "Just for that, Leon will go ahead with Elyan. You will be in charge of pushing the carriage whenever it gets stuck."

 _And got stuck it did._

Luckily, his friendship with Percival gained the friendly knight's help, but it was still dirty and tiring work. As hours crept forward, the rain did not abate and the dirt road turned into a churned pit underneath the heavy wooden wheels. He felt damp and musty underneath the armor and his shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin. "How much further?" He called out to Arthur as he and Percival panted together after heaving the chariot over a small hill.

"Just past these fields."

Gwaine grumbled his way back into his horse's saddle, but felt much better when he confirmed the king's words for himself. They were closer than Arthur let on, as groups of children had scampered out to meet them, and many could be seen to their left and right standing ankle deep in the puddles between sown furrows. A toothless babe ran out to smooth his small hands over Gwaine's infamous red cloak, then ran shrieking with laughter back to his siblings.

Leon met them shortly after and immediately launched into his report. "The local innkeeper has provided three rooms for us. He offered to slaughter his pig as a meal but I refused."

"Ace thinking, Sir Leon," Gwaine quipped. "That's what I want to hear when I'm hungry enough to eat a boar myself."

"His only is a sow, pregnant again, and it would truly have been wasteful to kill it. There will be no meat tonight I'm afraid."

Arthur nodded quickly and bade him continue.

"I have compensated him as you requested."

"And what of Elyan?"

"He is tracking down a blacksmith for a barrel of sand."

At this news Merlin gave a lackluster cheer.

Any water always promised a long night of drying and polishing chainmail to prevent the knights from becoming the Round Table of Rusted Buckets. Sand would make the entire process much easier, and Gwaine applauded Elyan for his ingenuity, however a single barrel also meant most of the work would get shafted onto a single individual, likely Merlin. Gwaine sent his friend a commiserating glance promising repayment of some kind.

The dreary day didn't leave Arthur feeling so generous. He turned his horse all the way round and shouted back. "Complaining again? What do you think I pay you for?"

—

The late afternoon and twilight hours passed quickly. As a group they fed and watered the horses before supping on a warm meal of bread and broth. The ladies returned to their room and he, Merlin, Elyan, and Percival to the second. The rooms resided close enough together that any shouts of danger from the ladies would quickly bring the knights to their room, though far enough away that even if the men sat in total silence, only a murmur of the noble's simpering voices made it through the stone walls.

Leon had taken first watch over the horses and carriage, and Arthur and Gwen had retired to a room on the opposite side of the structure. Gwaine assumed it usually was the innkeeper's room, and he wondered where the man would sleep tonight. _Likely the local tavern,_ he thought jealously, _to gamble away his new pocketful of coin._

Grey days led to black nights, and the three knights and Merlin worked by the light of torches and candles. Cross-legged in a loose semi-circle around Merlin, they applied whetstones, cloths, and wire brushes to their assortment of weapons. "Someone tell us a tale before I fall asleep on my sword," he broke in.

"I expect that would put you more on the side of dead in the phrase 'dead asleep'," Elyan replied primly.

"Merlin," Percival asked, "why don't you tell us about Princess Elena and Lord Godwyn. None of us have met them."

After Elyan's serious nod of agreement, Gwaine made a face. "The both of you are being much too productive for an hour we should all be two pints deep into."

Merlin, currently elbows deep in the barrel of sand, grinned. "Their time in Camelot is actually a great story. Quite salacious."

Gwaine thrust his sword to the side and propped his chin up onto his knees in a parody of an excited child. It drew laughs from the others. "Go on."

Merlin lifted Arthur's chainmail from the barrel and inspected it. Distractedly he added, "In fact, Arthur doesn't even know the half of it."

"This just keeps getting better!" Gwaine crowed.

Merlin set the chainmail to the side, and a short but silent conversation followed as he attempted to continue with Percival's. The giant didn't accept Merlin waving him off and instead took up Arthur's gauntlets as recompense. Not to be outdone, Gwaine set to work on the breastplate.

"Well hurry up, Merlin, don't be a tease."

His friend laughed, and he now obviously turned the story about in his mind. Gwaine waited in giddy anticipation—Merlin did not generally spill his secrets. And yes, Gwaine knew there were secrets. He wasn't that oblivious.

Finally, Merlin began. "I call this one," a cryptic smile tugged at the corner of his lips, "The Changeling."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) People cleaned their teeth with herbs, rosemary ash and/or handkerchiefs. Welcome to my Google-ing.

(2) Yes I know Gwaine's technically a noble, but I think he identifies as a commoner.

(3) Old royal carriages were four-wheeled wagons typically drawn by two horses. Later renditions could be pulled by four. Older designs had the coach resting on the axles, making for a bumpy ride, and other designs hung it from chains which made for a much smoother ride.

(4) To prevent rust, chainmail was often cleaned in sand and polished with oil.

(5) Liv, Lyvieve Savile, niece to Lord Savile who is on the Council. Both are new characters.

 **Author's Note:**

Such a short chapter after a whole week...it wasn't for lack of wanting to write. I was so busy at a conference that I just did not have the time. I wrote most of this tonight! Honestly, I was having withdrawals.

So I made up this idea of the barracks for commoner knights, but I think it makes loads of sense. Percival and Gwaine were good friends canonically, and this explains it. Also, in my headcanon, Elyan lives at the Blacksmith hut, and Leon has a noble's house.

Had to introduce Liv. Title is a play on Conan Doyle's "A Study in Scarlet", and Liv is Ms. Scarlet personified. Since she's obviously flirting with Gwaine, I want to bring up romance here instead of in the review section. Someone mentioned that they wanted Merlin to have someone, and don't worry, Merlin will have a romantic journey. I just haven't decided which canon character he's going to end up with yet, if he ends up with anyone. I'm going to have fun with him though, that's definitely set in stone.

Also, I fully intended to get to Gawant this chapter, but we didn't make it. Merlin had to tell a story, and now I have to write it! I'm sure I'll get that up tomorrow. It shouldn't be long.

To my reviewers: Mersan123, glad you enjoyed Miri flirting with Merlin :) Guest, Thanks for your review! I hope you continue reading! Jewelsmg, very happy that you enjoy all my details! I love researching them, and I'm glad they don't seem like I'm encyclopedia-ing the story. You smell a trap, eh? You are right that not everything is going to be peaceful this year, but I do stick to my assertion that there will not be blatant war. Merlin and Arthur will have challenges to face. Nova, really glad you liked Gwen and Arthur 'behind the scenes'! They were really worried about getting no response from their allies after Gwen's crowning.

 **Next time:** The Changeling in B Minor. Merlin tells the story of when Princess Elena first came to Camelot...well, most of it.


	8. The Changeling in B Minor

—

 **The Changeling in B Minor**

 _The Kalends of May (April 16-30)_

It starts like this…well first you have to understand that Uther once married a troll…ah, no Gwaine, that's a story for another time. It's funnier when you see Arthur's face.

Anyways, Uther says, "That Princess Elena, she sure is elegant."

No, wait. I'm getting ahead of myself.

It's my story! I'll tell it how I want.

So it actually starts like this. We spend a week running around in the woods hunting rabbits and fowl, then a new kid in the kitchens vomits all over it so we go out again. And this time, I promise you, Arthur _rolls_ around in the dirt while strangling a hog. And then he tells me he still needs his armor and clothes clean and laundered by the next morning because Lord Godwyn is coming in, and Arthur really was a giant prat in those days…

Maybe I'm getting behind myself… I'll skip ahead… oh _ha ha_ , guys.

On the morning of their arrival Uther wants Arthur to wait in the throne room. So we're all standing on the dais and Uther is talking about how beautiful and smart and elegant and strategic—yes he slips that in there—Princess Elena is, and Arthur is just barely catching on that Uther has an ulterior motive.

I do mean barely. He said, "Godwyn thinks I'm beautiful?" Uther had to spell it out.

And then, of course, the Princess Elena walked in and fell flat on her face.

Lord Godwyn and Uther were all over each other, and Arthur just stood there pale as a sheet. She was kind of cute, but a total and complete mess. Wildest looking princess I'd ever seen. She stood in the middle of the throne room and adjusted her undergarments as if it were any other day.

That's filthy, Percival. Didn't expect that coming from you.

No… hah! Absolutely not. That's not very knightly, guys.

Arthur got us excused from the room after saying something princely. Then he said "Go get the bags, Merlin, or were you planning on gawking at the princess all day? Rah rah rah, I'm the prince. Go away so I can complain to Gwen."

He literally spent the rest of the day in that exact mood. Ordering people around and then sighing mournfully like it was so sad that he couldn't have everything that he wanted. Honestly, he was such a clotpole, I can't believe I've forgotten. He even threw a pillow at me after I tried to cheer him up.

Elena really wasn't so bad, despite the burping and sneezing in Arthur's face, and picking food out of her clothes during feasts. Her mother died when she was young, just like Arthur, and she took to riding in an attempt to get closer to her in spirit. She completely beat Arthur in a horse race, by the way. And it's that trail he rides all the time—the one to the clearing where he has girly picnics with Gwen.

I…I don't know that! I don't want to know that. Ugh. You want to know that?

No, I don't follow him _all_ the time.

Lord Godwyn? I actually didn't see him much. Usually I was around Elena and Arthur, and Arthur was meant to keep her company during the meetings.

Though, I specifically remember wondering how he could be a friend to Uther. They had such different personalities. Lord Godwyn loved his daughter despite her wildness. He let her have her freedom.

Whereas Uther was completely the opposite. I got the impression Arthur had no choice but to marry her.

"When we talk about the future, we're not talking about your happiness."

Perhaps I'm being unfair. But when I think of _Uther_ …

What? Sorry, I drifted off. No, there's more to it than that. There's still the half of the story that I was busy with.

Actually, let me preface with this: If you talk to anyone else about what happened to Grunhilda—that's Elena's nanny—they think she ran away. For all intents and purposes, that's all any of you know.

Oh, I'm being dramatic am I? How do _you_ think Elena would take it if she found out Grunhilda was dead? And not only dead, but turned into a _pile of faerie dust?_ And try this on for size: I caught her catching flies in the forest with a giant purple frog tongue, and sprinkling magic dust on Elena while she slept.

Yes, Grunhilda had magic. To be precise, she was a pixie, and she sprinkled the dust on Elena to help the faerie within her grow. Faerie creatures can infect a human at birth, and while the human matures, so do the Sidhe.

Er…yes I…well Sidhe is the proper name for these types of faeries.

They planned on having Elena marry Arthur and then let the Sidhe escape and rule Camelot. They can live for a thousand years, so a few decades of waiting for their plan…

Ahem…uhm…Gaius said so. He's got a book on it.

In fact, we searched through his books until my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, trying to find a way to save Elena and Arthur from the Sidhe.

Why didn't I go running to Arthur? He had enough on his plate, and as Gaius said, "Merlin, Lord Godwyn is one of Uther's dearest friends. Accusing him of having a Sidhe for a daughter and a pixie for a nurse is not something that can be taken lightly."

So, of course, it was left to me to gather ingredients—

What do you mean, 'For what'? For _a potion_. Yes, it was obvious. Didn't I just say we were looking through Gaius' books?

The worst was a stamen from a Dropwort flower. It's more rare than a four-leaf clover. The same day Arthur proposed, I had marched for hours through a bog, back and forth, digging around with my hands on the marsh floor, mud nearly up to my chin. Honestly, it must have been uphill the entire time. The things I do for Camelot.

And I got in huge trouble that day! The castle was in an uproar over the impeding nuptials, as Uther demanded an even bigger feast, a new wedding gown to be stitched together in a single day, and Arthur's ceremonial robes prepared…

And throughout it all, I was conspicuously absent while "gathering herbs" for Gaius.

Oddly enough, that had been one of the first times I'd said that and it had been the truth.

Don't even…I _do_ pick herbs for Gaius…I _am_ picking herbs when I say that now, this was years ago—

You are all insufferable. Fine, follow me next time. You can hold the satchel. Besides, I'm no good at lying. I get sweaty and nervous and I start babbling.

Where was I? Oh, right. So after I got the stamen to Gaius he was able to finish the potion that evening, but I was so busy preparing for the wedding with the other servants that I only caught a few glimpses of Arthur and didn't even see Elena. That night, I fell asleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow. Spying and lying is exhausting work, by the way. Then…ah…well…nothing much happened.

But the next morning was the wedding so we were up at dawn to make the potion—

What? Did I?

I'm not confused…

I didn't lose the first draft! It broke—

Totally not my fault. The circumstances were completely outside of my control! All right, maybe it was partially my fault. Only a tiny bit, though. I am _not_ a klutz, Gwaine…

Can we move past this? I'm getting to the best part.

So we barely have any time left before the wedding. I'm sure Arthur is infuriated I haven't helped him get dressed, but Gaius and I are deep into our plan making. We know Grunhilda is helping Elena into her wedding gown; so sneaking her the potion is out of the question. But… and this is really fantastic… Grunhilda had this _massive_ crush on Gaius. She kept trying to flirt with him, and corner him when they were alone, and we used that to our advantage.

He went to Elena's chambers and told Grunhilda that "I just _have_ to have you _right now"_ —I don't know exactly what he said but that's how I imagined it—and got her to come to the vaults to meet him.

She arrived singing sonnets and dancing down the stairs. "I've been dreaming of this moment!"

Gaius was looking handsome for her, wore a fancy belt and everything.

"At last, we two will be as one."

I know, right? So gross. I don't want to think about it.

Then she tried to kiss him. I suppose Gaius got nervous, because he ran right out of there. I jumped out and locked her in a cell, but her giant frog tongue shot after Gaius. Just imagine it: purple and slimy…mottled with warts…even a few fly wings stuck to it…. And she used it to lick him right across the face.

Hah—It was glorious! His expression after…!

Oh…that's right…he made me promise not to tell. Well, whatever.

We headed for Elena's chambers right away—the castle was quiet and Uther had already begun his opening speech—and…well uhm… I leapt into Elena's room and plugged her nose and poured the potion down her throat.

It knocked her right out while it worked its magic. Er—bad choice of words.

When she woke back up, she asked us where Grunhilda was and I said, "I'll look into it."

Of course she never saw her again.

And that's it! Elena doesn't trust me much on account of attacking her with a draught, but she thinks Gaius is the best physician in Albion.

I tell you all of that and you're concerned about Arthur? You know what happened at the wedding. All of Elena's clumsiness evaporated with the Sidhe, and Arthur called off the wedding to marry for love—as he should have realized from the beginning. _Royals._ Mad, all of them.

The pixie dust? I think I put it with the other artifacts…oh the Grunhilda dust? I did say she turned to dust didn't I?

She just…turned to dust after Elena drank the potion.

No, that doesn't make much sense does it? But do the specifics truly matter? I mean, all this magic stuff, who has any idea what is going on with _that_? It was just a bunch of blue people with wings and purple frog tongues and zap! Bam! I'm melting! I don't even understand it myself—

I am _not_ babbling!

So what happened was... Grunhilda escaped the vaults and caught up to Gaius and I in the hallway. I had this…stick…which I grabbed from one of the hall decorations, and I…hit her on the head with it.

Yes, that's what happened.

Then I had a few seconds to pour the potion down Elena's throat—Gaius was coddling her—and the Sidhe burst out and Grunhilda burst in and they blasted magic and I ducked and poof! They were dust.

Now _that_ is a good explanation—I-mean-ending-to-the-story.

Merlin grinned.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Sidhe is pronounced Shee.

(2) Merlin was attacked by the Sidhe Elder at night, blasted him with his Sidhe staff, but unfortunately the potion was broken in the fight.

(3) After Grunhilda escaped, Merlin fought her in the hallway with the staff and blasted her to dust, then the Sidhe shortly after.

(4) Many other things go on with Arthur/Gwen/Uther/Morgana but Merlin didn't see any of it.

(5) Merlin, of course, took a lot of liberties with the dialogue.

 **Author's Note:**

When I started writing the chapter like this, I really loved it. Then I started to hate it. Tell me how you feel.

I was able to write this all yesterday, as I promised, but I wanted to give it a day to simmer so I could make sure it was even readable.

I don't have much to say about this one. It was a weird experience. Oh, I guess I can mention Merlin actually talking about the magical threat. I feel like some of these small stories can be told now…they don't really cause any harm. Plus, Gwaine has seen Merlin and Gaius 'defeat' the brollachan through 'herbal remedies.' Obviously, Merlin had to skip over the blatant magical fights.

I did have a lot of fun writing Merlin tie himself into knots.

Anyways, next time they are definitely getting to Gawant, and it's Beltane and the first half of the spring finale. Woo!

To my reviewers: Mersan123 and Jewelsmg, really glad I built up to Merlin's telling of the story well enough. I just hope this chapter met your expectations… He at least told more of the story than you expected, yes? Mersan123, yeah, Gwaine does not like those nobles hahha! Thanks again for such consistent reviewing; you're always the first and so you make me extra happy. Jewelsmg, I know—such a short chapter followed by another short chapter! I feel terrible. And as for romance, you're going to be shocked at how many girls I throw at poor Merlin. And of course, eventually they'll be plots with Freya, and Sefa, and Mithian, and Morgana…but it's three years worth of story so you'll have to settle for new characters for now.

 **Next time:** Damsels in Disguise. It's Gwen's side of the story as a standard night of revelry turns into something quite different…


	9. Damsels in Disguise

—

 **Damsels in Disguise**

 _Beltane (May 1)_

Guinevere was lost in a memory.

Nearly eight years ago she had ridden in this same carriage, on this same path to Gawant's castle. She remembered the constant jolting on the axles as they trundled along, and the thick, damp feeling to the air as the sun rose higher in the sky. Then, she had looked in awe at the intricate designs painted in golden yellow on the interior of the cabin, and listened to her charge—Morgana—talk excitedly about the city and how much she'd rather be riding alongside the knights. Together they'd searched out crevices to hide her cross-stitching threads and needles and giggled ridiculously. Then they had pressed their cheeks near together so Gwen could wash air over both of their faces using Morgana's fan.

Gwen had looked down at her lap whenever Arthur came to the window to check on them, but Morgana would always lean forwards and flirt outrageously.

Being back here, wearing a fine gown and her circlet of gold on her head, watching Mistress Vanora putting a flower into the garden scene of a cross-stitch, and leaning over to peck Arthur on the cheek—an outrageous show of affection—when he came to check on them, made the world feel like it had turned upside down.

Sometimes her past felt like an old dream, and other times like this—as if she had just fallen through the ground and was in some strange mirror world.

"Ah, there it is!" Miri called excitedly. It was the first sentence she'd spoken of her own accord this entire morning, and Gwen had the feeling she was finally seeing Miri's true spirit, generally hidden as it was behind the servant's veneer. The younger girl leaned forward and turned wonder-filled eyes to the new city.

Mistress Vanora smacked the girl lightly on the knee. "Stop gawking."

Lady Lyvieve leaned forward to grab Miri's attention. "Hurry and tell me. Is my makeup smudged?"

Miri turned back to them both with a sour expression that she quickly hid. "No, my lady, you're as beautiful as ever."

The carriage pulled to a halt at the drawbridge of the castle, and then trundled upward into the front square. Afterwards, Arthur pulled alongside the coach and poked his head in. "Ready to go, Guinevere?"

She nodded eagerly and popped the door open herself, perhaps with a bit too much excitement. The breeze, warm and refreshing, blew past her and into the stale air of the cabin. She placed a hand into Arthur's and allowed him to help her down onto the grey stones.

Large yellow and grey banners emblazoned with Godwyn's lion crest hung from the windows of every tower of the castle. The structure's shape was largely different from Camelot, and instead of arching battlements, these round towers clustered together as the castle built itself into the surrounding hills.

The square they stood in was much too nice for the horses, and Gwen only now noticed most of the party had ditched their rides at the gate. Merlin was already unhitching the carriage with the help of a foreign servant, and soon led the steeds away to the stables.

On the way, one tried to paw at the centerpiece—a tall stone statue of a man in armor astride a horse. It was a twin of the one that sat at Camelot's front steps. This was intentional, as she'd recently learned that Camelot's had been a wedding gift to Uther from Lord Godwyn.

Lord Godwyn stepped forward and grasped Arthur's hand. The man's wizened eyes crinkled, and he looked genuinely happy to see them both. "This is the famous Queen Guinevere?"

"I am, though I'm certainly not so famous."

This made him chuckle and he responded, "Ah, but it was the idea of you that caused the young Prince Arthur to bring a royal wedding to a standstill." He turned back to Arthur. "You gave my daughter a chance for greater happiness. I told your father that you would one day make a great king. I'm happy to witness both for myself."

Arthur seemed unaware of how to take this sudden praise, and colored slightly. "I'm deeply honored to hear that from such a close ally."

The three were momentarily distracted as Lyvieve fell from the coach into the arms of a nearby knight. Leon stood near its door with a hand outstretched and confusion written across his face—obviously wondering why she had not just taken his arm for balance.

"Perhaps we should lead the ladies to their chambers," Arthur said. "They must be tired from the journey."

"I could really use a turn about the castle myself, if that's alright?" Gwen cut in quickly. Moving from sitting in that carriage to sitting in a room did not appeal to her at all.

"The Princess Elena will escort you then." Lord Godwyn gave a small bow of his head, and Gwen returned the gesture.

A young woman appeared at his elbow, and then smiled brilliantly at them both. She greeted Arthur warmly, though he responded formally. He was unused to this elegant creature, when the Elena he knew had most often been the tomboyish child.

"Let's continue this in my meeting room," Lord Godwyn began. "I want to discuss a few political matters with you before the feast this evening. I'll bring in some refreshments for us as well."

Arthur nodded briskly and turned about to order someone to bring Elena's gift to his and Gwen's chambers. Instead, he found Merlin standing behind him grinning widely. When had he become so stealthy?

He saw Merlin's eyes dart down to his open mouth that had been ready to speak, likely wanting to make a joke about a gaping fish though fortunately refraining. "On it, sire." He smirked and walked his gangly-legged self over to fetch the bags.

 _It must be nice to be Merlin. His biggest worry right now is not getting lost in the castle._

Arthur shook himself from the self-pitying thoughts and went with Lord Godwyn into a darkened meeting room lit by sconces along the walls. Two large maps lay on a table at its center—one a detailed version of Gawant, and the other the standard map of Albion.

"First, let me begin by thanking you for sending over supplies after the Southron attack," Arthur began. "They raided many of our stores. I believe we decided on a gold settlement?"

"We did," Godwyn began, "but I was hoping to trade that for protection."

"Are you in danger?" Arthur asked sharply.

"No," Godwyn looked amused, and his eyes twinkled. "Though I appreciate the concern. Brigands have attacked my merchants very often in the months since Camelot's brief fall."

"We have had similar troubles as well. I believe groups of the army fled after Helios died. Helios was only a warlord who brought these sell-swords together, and with no promise of gold to keep them, it's no surprise to me that they now turn against honorable citizens."

"I've tried patrols, but with similar results." Godwyn agreed and looked down at the maps. "What do you propose?"

"Nothing yet," Arthur's eyes flicked to the roads, but he'd spent many hours pouring over them himself and had them well memorized. "If we accompanied every merchant on the road to Gawant, we could protect this trade route, but to the detriment of many others."

"I see." The elder man moved to a cabinet and swung wide the doors. He sorted through various scrolls that resided there before picking a long tube. As he returned, he picked away the red ribbon tying it together. "These are plans my master mason designed last year." He spread the scroll out on the table, and Arthur moved forward to hold one end of the curled edges of the paper.

The entire left side of the scroll contained a detailed drawing of a tall wooden tower with call outs of particular details that would mean things to woodworkers. A small sketch of the roads between Gawant and Camelot had been drawn in a corner as if someone had been hurriedly explaining an idea. A line that ran south of the White Mountains and north of the Valley of Fallen Kings had been thickened. "We took this road to travel here. It's small, easily muddied, and much too close to bandit territory for merchants to travel without a retinue of knights."

"If we combined our resources, we could widen the road. I hadn't thought of mud and runoff…but how feasible do you think laying stones would be?"

Arthur shook his head. "I would have to check with Master Finch, but he's back in Camelot. Is there a copy of these I could take back?"

"I'll have one made," Godwyn replied offhandedly. "But you think this is a potential solution?"

"I expect your plan is to build these towers along the road. Watchtowers to scare away potential attacks." Arthur allowed the scroll to roll back away and walked to the small window. Through it he could see only blue sky. "This would cost much more then we settled on. It is a massive investment."

"True," Godwyn conceded. "But you and the queen are young, and my daughter will soon be married and take the throne when I am gone. We are already strong allies, and will continue to be so beyond my death." He strode forward and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "With an actual road, my riders could actually reach you during a crisis."

Yes, Gawant would surely be an ally for a long time to come. Yet Godwyn's speech made his stomach churn, and in the few seconds of silence he was owed he analyzed that feeling swiftly. He had hated Godwyn for the feeling of comfort he had given, and for discussing the strategy as if he were explaining things to a child. He also knew that he felt these things not through a fault of Godwyn's, but because of more than a year spent trusting a traitor.

He removed Godwyn's hand. "It's certainly an idea worthy of consideration. I will need to discuss it with my own council and artisans. Expect a messenger in a few weeks with a more detailed proposal."

"Wonderful, Arthur."

Arthur headed carefully away from the elder man and back towards the table. This was in part a calculated maneuver, as Godwyn was slightly taller than him. "Lord Godwyn, I do not wish to remind you that we are not on such familiar terms."

"Of course, sire."

—

Guinevere walked alongside Princess Elena through the court gardens. They followed a path underneath a gable, so straight and long it felt like a corridor in a castle. Time had chipped away white paint from the wood, and old, dead vines interlaced with their young flowering children.

"Arthur tells me you are a great rider."

Elena smiled widely. "I enjoy the sport very much. As a child, I only felt free and in control when I rode. It seems so silly now." She smoothed her yellow gown of a few fallen leaves. "Are you a rider as well?"

"I have ridden before, though not often," she had never had much opportunity even after Elyan had been knighted. "Luckily I picked up a few things watching others."

A light blush rose on Elena's cheeks. "Father did tell me you had been in a servant when we were last in Camelot. I apologize, but I don't remember meeting you…"

Gwen couldn't help but laugh. Elena was officially the first noble to admit Gwen had been a servant, instead of hiding the knowledge like some dark secret. "I don't believe we ever officially met anyways. Though I do remember you."

Elena blushed deeper. "I hope I never did burp in your face—"

Guinevere burst into laughter again, explaining that Elena had never done so between breaths. "Do not worry about that, Elena. After the near-wedding, most of us believed that it had all been a charade to prevent Arthur from proposing."

The girl herself giggled slightly, and brushed her golden hair over one shoulder with embarrassed movements. "If only I had been so cunning. No, I was just so wild and clumsy in those days." She glanced down, a small smile playing on her face. "Grunhilda always said I would grow up to be a wonderful faerie. I never believed her. But I think realizing I was no longer a child, and that it was time I started acting like the princess I was and walk down that aisle toward Arthur…it changed me."

Elena frowned and looked at Gwen in trepidation. Likely wondering if she had gone too far. Though Elena was fast learning that Guinevere was no ordinary queen. The brown-skinned girl only looked back kindly, an understanding expression in her dark eyes.

"I wish to rephrase. It didn't change me exactly…instead, it feels like…it feels like I am _more_ of me." She laughed. "Am I making sense?"

"Of course you are," Guinevere smiled.

Elena leaned in closer and said in an excited whisper, "I admit that wild child is still within me though, I just keep her better hidden from the court." She grasped Gwen's hands tightly in her own. "She's there when I need her for wit, and for dancing around the maypole, and for strength and conviction. Oh I'm so _happy_ to meet someone who understands that you must love who you are—!" She broke off to grin dazzlingly at the queen.

It amused Gwen that she had barely gotten a word in during this exchange, but she fully appreciated Elena's thoughts. "I admit there were many weeks where I worried I would do everything wrong. But others, and now you, have helped me remember that being a good person is never so complicated a thing." She pulled her hands from Elena's grasp and patted her shoulder so they could continue their stroll. "Now hurry and tell me about this man of yours. How did you meet?"

—

After a light lunch with the other ladies, Elena was swept away to prepare for the feast, and Guinevere returned to her chambers to also change into something more formal.

Miri went with her to fix her hair in silence before bowing out. Gwen had attempted plenty of times to start a conversation with the servant girl, but apparently Miri did not like her, or she had something against all nobility. Though, Gwen would gladly accept this if the girl continued to flirt with Merlin. Her sweet friend deserved to fall in love.

Long after they were supposed to leave for the feast Arthur finally appeared, and after a brief kiss the first thing he did was ask her about Merlin. "Have you seen him?"

"He was here when I arrived. He warned me about assassins before he left."

"You believed that?" He shook his head. "The idiot is skiving off work again."

She swatted him. "Oh, let him be, Arthur. Elena enjoyed her gift, even more so after realizing it was a red, altered version of the original wedding gown."

Arthur had finished changing into a doublet and started to clasp his cape back onto his shoulders, so now his aghast expression reflected back to her through the mirror. "You _told_ her?"

"She's not like other court ladies, Arthur, you should know that."

He grumbled, but decided she was right as he concurrently decided he looked fine enough for a feast. "Shall we?"

On their way to the banquet hall they passed a young group of nobles, arms all around each other and singing a merry tune, thoroughly intoxicated. Later, Gwen would berate herself for not noticing something was odd at that point. How could anyone have been _that_ drunk this early into the night?

When they entered the hall, Gwaine ran up to them both with a wide grin on his face before bowing sloppily. "Princess!" He crowed and snatched Arthur's circlet from his head, then slapped it onto his own.

"Gwaine!" Arthur hissed, looking around the room in case someone had seen the blatant treason. "Give that back!" He lunged but Gwaine danced away easily.

The rogue clicked his tongue and Arthur turned furiously about the room until he caught Leon's eye.

"Help me catch him!"

Leon took one look at the situation and burst into laughter, eventually collapsing onto the wall at his back, immobile and breathless with his continued guffaws. Gwen was shocked, her childhood friend rarely reacted so brazenly.

Yet by the time she had gathered her wits, Gwaine had ran off into the crowd with a new shout. "Percival, come look at this—"

Arthur took a step forward to chase, but Princess Elena accosted them swiftly. Her hair matted about her head in wild disarray, and her gown slipped sloppily from her shoulders. She used a fingernail to quickly pick a bit of food from her teeth and smiled brilliantly at them both. "You finally made it!"

She currently was leaning most of her weight against a well-built man. He had brunette hair and a handsome face, but the lost, whimsical look in his eyes threw Gwen for a loop. He blinked at the king and queen, then looked down at Elena. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…"

"Elena," Gwen said carefully as she tried to make sense of this strange behavior—as if the girl had reverted to the personality she'd shown in Camelot. "Is this your betrothed?"

"I love thee to the breadth and depth and height…"

"Yes!" Elena squealed as her love continued his sonnet. She tried to throw her arms around his neck, but that imbalanced her and she collapsed onto the floor in a whoosh of fabrics. "Isn't he sweet?"

She started giggling from the floor and the man joined her upon the ground. "I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need…"

The two lost themselves in their strange distraction, and Gwen looked worriedly at Arthur. "I think something is wrong with everyone."

And she was right. Similar scenes were playing out all around the hall, yet no trace of alcohol was found sloshing from cups or guzzling down throats. Elyan was at a table creating a tower of mugs, and Lord Godwyn sat upon the dais sipping at a bowl of soup and looking amused and glassy-eyed at the rambunctious mess below him.

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur asked her again.

"I'm sure I don't know," Gwen answered in surprise. "Do you think his disappearance has something to do with this?"

Arthur shook his head, and said distractedly, "I don't know what I think." Then he growled in frustration. "That idiot is always running off in these situations!"

"So you agree something _is_ going on? What do we do, Arthur?"

"There must be someone not affected. We need to find out what happened."

Mistress Vanora strode by them shaking with rage, and she turned to them both. "Have you seen Miri!? She called me an old hag, spit in my face, and ran off!"

"Another song!" Someone shouted, and the entire room took up the cheer. Gwen put a quick restraining hand on Arthur to hold him close as people turned and bustled around them, very afraid of losing him now when everyone else was so crazy. The crowd moved for the center of the room, and the king and queen were swept along until over a few heads Gwen spied a musical troupe. The four musicians looked at one another in giddy anticipation, their inebriation equal to the other revelers about her, and Gwen felt her stomach drop in dread.

The first man raised a flute to his lips and the lyre, drums, and pipes of his friends followed after, beginning a jig with gusto as the music whistled from their instruments in a thousand layered tones.

Gwen was captured by its complexity and the story of joy and freedom and life and lost ages, and by its end a wide grin split across her face. She turned to Arthur to get his opinion on the sublime sounds only to see a dopey expression sweeping across him. "You don't look much like a king right now," she giggled.

"A king?" He slurred, then looked at her with eyes that had obviously not understood what she'd said.

"You've lost your crown!" She shrieked and burst into more giggles. "Here, you must take mine." She took her simple but elegant golden chain from her hair and tried to place it onto Arthur's big head. It truly was bigger than she thought! She laughed again.

"Let's dance," Arthur interrupted her efforts, and the chain was stuffed into her bodice as he took up her arms and began to sweep her around the room.

Arthur whirling her about made the people and scenery blur into a hodgepodge of sound and color. She couldn't stop laughing at just how happy and carefree she felt. It all felt so wonderful.

What had she felt so worried about moments ago? Pointless brooding wasn't what life was about! This was a truer life—she could stay dancing with Arthur like this all night, every night, every day! Why ever stop, oh everything was so beautiful!

"Outside!" Someone yelled, and the crowd took to this order with gusto. _Yes,_ Gwen thought, _no room in here to dance! I keep bumping into people!_

She tugged at Arthur's hand, or he tugged at hers, and they spilled with the other nobles and servants into the halls and then the hills around the castle. There were a hundred people, a thousand conversations and activities all filled with things that would normally have put a court into an uproar. Gwen easily ignored them all when she felt the grass underfoot.

Her shoes slipped off easily and then she was pulling Arthur to the hill's edge. "You must try this!" She got onto her knees, then lay on her stomach. She twisted to look gleefully at Arthur's drunk expression then pushed herself off the edge of the hill, sending herself rolling in a blur of confusion and giddy excitement.

When she slowed at the bottom of the knoll, she lay on her back and laughed out loud. The sky above was dark and full of stars and nature was just divine, and then Arthur landed on his back next to her with an _oof!_ Others followed their lead, and people rolled past them, beyond them, some splashing into the river further ahead.

"I feel like a child," Arthur said, then leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. And oh, could anything ever compare to this? Had she ever been so happ—

It all stopped.

The first thing she saw was Arthur's face as her own confusion mirrored in his expression. Around them, everyone else had fallen quiet and were looking about themselves. Near the river, someone shrieked.

The royal couple turned quickly, and confirmed that yes, it was Elena and she was pointing at a body in the water—

Gwen had barely noticed, but Arthur had already left her, barreling for the stream. "Out of the way!"

He leapt and swam with hurried strokes for the lifeless form, capturing it about the waist. Arthur pulled so the face no longer dragged in the water, and paddled back to ground. The entire party had gathered at its shores, and gasped when they confirmed that yes, it was Elena's betrothed—

Arthur raised a fist and slammed it down onto the man's chest. The noble coughed and sat immediately, eyes wide in the same confusion that had washed over them all just moments ago. "What happened?" He asked, as soon as he could speak.

Elena opened her mouth to answer but no words left her lips. She turned mystified eyes to Gwen and Arthur. Arthur appeared just as puzzled, and Gwen found that the more she tried to think as to what had possessed her to come out here, the more fuzzy her memory became. Where were her shoes? What was this in between her breasts—oh! When had that gotten there?

"Arthur!"

" _Merlin?_ "

Gwen discretely replaced the crown on her head and looked up to see Merlin's silhouette dashing in the dark from the hills to the riverbank. The normally pale servant was flushed and panting slightly, blue eyes clinically scanning over Arthur's and her own form.

Her friend appeared to only then notice the audience they had and bent quickly at the waist in the strangest bow she'd ever seen him perform. A moment passed, then Merlin shouted, "Lord Godwyn requests your presence in the Banquet Hall?" And yes, it had sounded like a question.

Arthur and the lord stood to their feet. Gwen went quickly to his side and grasped Arthur's hand to remind him she was there. If he was anywhere near as confused as she, then he'd need as much support as he could get. Arthur cleared his throat and said, "Let us all return to the Banquet Hall. Merlin, escort Princess Elena and her betrothed to a physician."

—

They never did narrow down what had happened. No one who had been there remembered anything, and those that hadn't been there at most had seen a group of revelers cavorting about the grounds.

The whole situation left Arthur feeling sour. What had befuddled them all? Surely it was magic. He was lucky nothing worse had happened. How could he let himself be fooled?

Actually, Gwaine wandering around half the evening with Arthur's crown had been terrible enough. The knight had no idea how he had gotten hold of it, but the man had still earned himself a month's worth of the worst patrols.

Arthur continued to think grumpy thoughts as he swung onto his horse. They had dallied long enough in Gawant, and now, only a few days until the Nones of May, they were long in returning to Camelot. At least he'd had a chance to mention his thoughts on Odin to Lord Godwyn, and reaffirm that any news of Morgana be brought to his attention.

With the ladies safely settled in the coach, and all the other knights astride their horses, Arthur tapped his heels onto his stallion and they set off with their final farewells.

Yet, Arthur couldn't help but let his mind draw back to the night in the hills. What had been the last thing he remembered? Had there been any clue? Had something terrible happened or been set in motion that he had not noticed yet?

As he brooded over these questions, he glimpsed his manservant with that trademarked goofy grin on his face. Not a care in the world, his manservant had. _Mer_ lin was just happy to be riding on his horse and enjoying whatever he'd gotten away with this time.

Well, there was plenty of distance between here and Camelot, and Arthur would make sure to wipe that foolish grin off Merlin's face. In fact, a discussion on where his dear servant had been all of Beltane sounded like a good place to start.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) I made up Godwyn's colors. His crest is canonically a lion though. Seems odd that they know what a lion is. Though in this age there is such a thing as a Sphinx so never mind.  
(2) Arthur's referring to Agravaine when he's thinking about the traitor. Agravaine helped Arthur for a year between S3 and S4, and then S4 takes place over a couple months.  
(3) Elena's fiancé is quoting "How Do I Love Thee" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning  
(4) The Nones of May is about the 7th of the month.

 **Author's Note:**

"Grunhilda always said I would grow up to be a wonderful faerie." I crack myself up.

So this was Gwen and Arthur on Beltane. Lord Godwyn surprised me with his plans for a highway, but it makes sense since I've decided the small army he has is mostly cavalry.

Miri wrote herself into the story a few chapters ago, and now Gwen is even wanting her to date Merlin. That part was a bit poignant to me, actually, because it just shows how little everyone knows about Merlin.

To my reviewers: You all BLEW ME AWAY. Wow. I never expected that many reviews for such a weird little chapter. I thought the responses were across the board, some people enjoyed it, and some people were trying to be polite while saying...never do that again. Haha! It was an experiment, and sometimes experiments don't always succeed. The problem is...I didn't plan it. These drabbley things just happen out of nowhere.

Mersan123, glad Merlin's ramblings made sense! Linorien, thank you for the compliment...and yeah it was a bit weird wasn't it? Jewelsmg, I'm glad you spent time wondering what the knight's were saying, I was hoping for that reaction. I have to figure out a way to include their dialogue if there is a next time though. I'm trying to write as fast as possible, but it's looking like 5-7 days is going to be the average. guest, sorry that the style threw you off, but glad you thought it was fun! Nenagh, yes one day he is going to get caught XD I love writing him making up excuses... And I'm super glad you enjoyed the style with the storytelling. Cat, you made me smile :) Guest, glad you're enjoying! Hope you stick around! StarlightInHerEyes22, wow! You made me feel so wonderful! Thank YOU for being so supportive, and I hope you do come with me on this entire journey! It's going to be a long one. Nova, thanks for always telling me which parts make you laugh, and thanks for making me feel better! jkwhedon1919, Really glad you found it funny! I debate all the time on whether I have humor skills or not.

 **Next time** : Pixie Styx. It's Beltane from Merlin's perspective, and no, he never does catch a break.


	10. Pixie Styx

—

 **Pixie Styx**

 _Beltane (May 1)_

"Apologies, but there are no horses beyond the drawbridge."

Merlin pulled his horse to a stop and the carriage trundled to a halt behind him. Gwen's horse, rider-less since she had dressed in a gown this morning, pawed at the dirt of the road.

Arthur spurred his horse forward and looked down at the young sentry. "The Queen of Camelot is in that coach," he said, "I doubt that rule applies to her."

The guard looked about at the others of his station also standing on the drawbridge but all refused to catch his eye. He was left to make the decision himself and take the fall for it alone. Merlin saw him gulp. "If you at least could dismount here…our staff will take care of them…"

"Oh, _alright_." Arthur signaled to the others and swung his leg over the saddle to leap to the ground. "Merlin, go on ahead. I'll catch up."

With just the slightest pressure of his ankles his horse moved forward again, but the wooden slats on the drawbridge made the horse move slowly, worried about misplacing a hoof and breaking an ankle. Merlin patted him gently on the neck to reassure him.

The doors at the end of the drawbridge were swung open by another set of guards, and he entered into a sunlit square where much of Godwyn's court already waited. Most of their attention went past him to the windows at his rear, and despite the many eyes, Merlin dismounted in virtual invisibility.

"There's food for you soon," he said quietly as he smoothed his hand along his horse's mane. "Hay and rest. I bet you're tired from pulling all that weight these past few days, eh Anemos?" He unbuckled the bridle, and led him away by the reigns. Anemos stomped and shook his rump, glad to be free of the restraints.

Across the other side of the carriage, a boy had released Gwen's white mare and beckoned Merlin after him. Merlin was able to follow with only a little trouble from Anemos and caught up with the boy quickly. "Thanks for the help," he said jovially before introducing himself.

"I'm Olly," the boy replied. "You going to the feast with them royals?"

"If I do, then I'm just filling Arthur's goblet," Merlin laughed.

"Oh that's too bad. If you want, we're having a servant's dinner right before evening bell—anything not good enough to serve is free game for us lot."

"That sounds ideal, I'll try and make it."

The boy scratched at his stomach and hollered at the stable master as they neared the surprisingly large structures. Despite the sizable difference in standing army size between Camelot and Gawant, Godwyn's stables rivaled theirs. Row after row of sheds lined together to house at least fifty or sixty horses. "Bring 'em 'ere, lad!"

The boy ran ahead with Gwen's mare while Merlin gaped at the well-kept wooden buildings. Usually a mess of hay and mud, the paths between the stalls were swept impeccably clean. _I better not let Arthur get a look at this!_

Anemos tugged Merlin towards a bucket of water laid out by a set of doors, and Merlin let him dip his nose in to lap it up.

"Get that beast outta there!"

Merlin jumped and tugged Anemos back, shock all over his face as Anemos snorted disagreeably. "Me?"

"That water ain't for horses, it's for pixies!"

If Merlin's eyes could have gone wider, they would have. "What?"

The stable master yanked the reign from Merlin's hand and Anemos whinnied. "Don'tcha know them pixies like to ride these horses come night?"

He watched his gelding be led away and gaped after, wondering if he'd heard wrong. Olly returned with a toothy grin to snatch up the bucket. "Don't you have pixie troubles in Camelot?"

"Apparently not like you do in Gawant." Merlin watched Olly dump the 'tainted' water into a horse's trough and begin to trek off towards a nearby well. He paced after him. "Lord Godwyn knows about all this?"

"Them royals don't understand the old religion stuff." He fished out a course string from around his neck and dangled it for Merlin to see. On the end hung a flatted piece of tarnished silver, smaller than a fingernail. "This keeps them away. Keeps you from being pixie-led. Them pixie's don't like silver, everyone says so."

"That would have been useful to know a few years back."

"Horses don't stand a chance. Pixies get at them and we find them out in the fields, mane a mess of knots."

"And what does the water do?"

Olly shrugged. "We find it all splashed around as if them pixies took a bath."

A bucket didn't seem nearly large enough for a full-grown pixie, much less many of them. Maybe Olly meant baby pixies. Or perhaps something else was going on with the water.

"Boy, you sure are ignorant about the old ways for an adult."

"That's my style," Merlin sighed.

Actually…that reminded him that he needed to get back to Arthur.

—

He carried Elena's dress and Arthur's travel bag up four flights of stairs and entered the royal's chambers, where outside of the room's tall window the wind blew the long green grass of the hills. _One…two…yes definitely four flights_ , he questioned of his sanity.

Merlin dumped his load on the fluffed bed and stuck his head outside. _Yep, that was definitely ground._ He stretched an arm out, and when he couldn't reach the grass, moved to dangle his feet over the edge. He measured that two determined men could climb their way into this suite if they worked together.

He shook his head as he landed back within the room. Lord Godwyn needed to have a talk with whomever built his castle _into_ the hills.

Merlin hurried back down the stairs and through a few hallways before he returned to the main square. By then, other servants had moved Camelot's carriage away, and he trailed after them by following the inconsistent directions of various castle staff. After learning quite a bit about the grounds outside, he tracked them down to the southern end of the castle where they'd stuffed the coach in the same shed as Godwyn's.

"Can someone just toss me the Queen's bags?" It was a tight squeeze, and he'd rather avoid all the bruises he'd likely get if he crawled into that mess.

"That's these? Tied to the back?" One of the men pulled two large bundles of red cloth from the rear and held them high for Merlin to see. After an affirmative from Merlin, the man tossed the bundles through a gap. He was able to catch the first but the second rolled through the dirt before Merlin stopped it with a foot.

"Thanks!" Merlin shouted happily and scooped up the second bundle. These bags were heavier than Arthur's, but then again Gwen's wardrobe required a lot of fancy layers.

On his way back to the rooms he ran into Miri, literally, and she huffed at him. "Why don't you carry those so they don't block your vision?"

Merlin laughed. "I'm just in a rush, as always." He juggled Gwen's bags into a better position. "Where are you off to?"

"The lovely ladies are in need of a bath. How did I get roped into taking care of these noble pains?" She swung her messy braid around her shoulder and released the tie, deftly braiding it back together as Merlin grinned at her during her rant. "I should get paid double at least."

"Gwen is very low maintenance. You'll like her." He was distracted as she tied the twine back into place, and swept spare dark strands out of her eyes. "Er, the other servants are having a small feast before evening bell. Want to meet me here?"

"Anything to get away from madame-aucelle and the vixen." She glanced about them quickly and giggled, then leapt forward to cup her hands around one of Merlin's ears. "That woman is one yellow stripe away from a good sard."

Miri collapsed against his arm in a fit of giggles as he blushed at her vernacular. "I'm glad you decided to yell that in my ear instead of out loud where someone might actually hear you," he replied sarcastically.

"Do men actually like females falling all over them like that?"

"Some men. Don't get any ideas, though."

She snorted. "As if." Miri waved as she walked away to continue her chores and then promised to meet him tonight.

After re-climbing the four flights of stairs—carefully because he couldn't see his feet—Merlin kicked open the suite's door and looked quickly around for a wardrobe to put Gwen's clothes in. He spied a tall cabinet on the far wall and moved for it, switching both bundles onto one arm so he could grasp the handle.

Surprisingly it was locked, but with a flash of gold it unlatched and he swung wide the door. "Who—?!"

A short girl stood inside, green eyes wide as she stared at him in her own layer of shock. The bags fell at his feet and he yelped again as he noticed she was wearing Elena's gift—the red gown long enough to fall past her fingertips and cover her toes.

"How did you get in here? Look—that's a gift for the princess. Where's your mother?"

He rambled, and she shot a long purple tongue out and licked him across the face.

Merlin twisted away with a gurgle of disgust, and the girl leaped out of the cabinet and dove for the window. "Oh, that is revolting!" He whined and wiped the spittle from his cheek.

He kicked Gwen's clothes into the cabinet and hurriedly shut the doors so he could follow after the girl. The eight-foot drop wasn't pleasant, but the soft grass dulled the landing. When he rolled to his feet he could still clearly see the girl, as a Pendragon red dress atop a backdrop of green did not do well in the name of camouflage.

No use shouting at her to come back. At the least she would not listen, and at the most it would draw unwanted attention. So, he saved his breath for the sprint after her. After cresting the largest hill and moving out of sight of the castle, he caught her jumping like a frog in her rush to escape him. With a push of his magic he sent her sprawling, and then he skidded down after her.

The girl screeched, and a flash of white light blinded him. He crouched to hide his eyes, blinking rapidly behind his arm until his vision returned. When he could keep them open without too much pain, he stood again with a squint. Around him, he saw other people hurrying into the dip between hills, some with hands outstretched, and others clustering around the young girl. He saw a mixture of children and adults, while a few scattered about were of Gaius' age.

He held up his hands in surrender, even as his magic bubbled within him. "I'm just here for the dress."

Now that his eyes had readjusted to the light, he recognized the wary look on the others faces. Certainly they were all pixies, and their shorter stature and gold-rimmed eyes confirmed his suspicions. He heard a few whispers about his sorcery, and someone to his right urgently said _get the elder!_

Well, he had certainly stepped in it this time.

Unwilling to start a mini battle in broad daylight, he waited patiently for the elder to appear. In the time between the pixies formed a loose semi-circle before him, and he made sure to keep his eye on the young girl with Elena's gift.

Finally the elder appeared, and it was as he feared and expected—a Sidhe Elder. A female this time, yet still as blue, tiny, and wrinkled as the male he'd faced many years ago. She carried her own small staff as she flew toward him on her miniature faerie wings.

His own staff was still safely stashed under the loose floorboard back in Camelot, and its focusing ability was now sorely missed. Sure, he could enhance his vision to see the rapidly moving faerie, but in a fight he'd have to hope he could quickly counter any ancient magic she may throw at him.

"Why did you hurt my servant?"

"She stole that dress."

The Sidhe Elder frowned at Merlin as she heard such mundane news. "She just wanted a bauble; she'll trade for something equally beautiful." She turned to the other pixies with a hiss, and her staff pulsed dangerously. "Do not bother me with trivialities like this again!"

The blue light flashed from the staff, and when it faded the Elder had disappeared.

Before the pixies could think to dissent, Merlin blurted, "I've got this fantastic scarf—same color as that dress. How is that for a trade? It would actually fit you too!"

The girl shook her head. "It's not pretty."

"What about…" What did he actually own that he could trade? Nothing of course. Great. More shades of grey in his future. "I could get my hands on an ornate candelabra."

"Is it shiny?" The girl asked.

Another pixie popped her on the arm and said, "We don't have any candles here, girl! Ask for something useful, like a crown!"

A crown was out of the question. Deciding to use Olly's information on a lark, he said, "Well, what about a nice big bucket of water?"

This apparently was an extremely amusing thing to say, as all the pixies burst into laughter. "It is not _we_ who need to find the music!"

 _Hmm._ "Music, eh?"

—

 _Stop dallying, Merlin, and go break the law in yet another kingdom of Albion._

He sighed. How did he keep getting himself into these situations?

His plan wasn't a terrible one, so he really needed to stop hesitating. This castle's main structure must be similar to Camelot's—nobles usually followed general trends. This meant the minstrel's gallery would overlook the Great Hall, and their changing rooms would have replaced a storeroom since they traveled into town to perform.

Usually, minstrels wore brightly colored costumes, and Merlin had stolen one of the red cloth wraps from Gwen's pack and folded it to look like he carried a set of these costumes. He adjusted the illusion in his arms, took a deep breath, and swung out of his alcove to merge back into the traffic in this servant's corridor.

It led straight to the Great Hall, and as most servants moved to set tables and decorate the room, he dodged left and veered through a door that looked like the most likely candidate.

He heaved a huge sigh of relief when he saw the interior—empty of life and littered with colorful cloths, hats, and traveling cases. With a hushed word he locked the door and scampered to the instruments.

The more prominent, and most cared for, was a delicate flute. It must have cost the minstrels a fortune to buy off a woodworker and would be much too obviously missed. The lute was a similar story. He avoided the harp, but the fourth case held a set of reed pipes.

Ten pipes of varying length had been bound together with homespun cloth, and he turned them about in his hand deciding if this would be enough. They looked worn and oft used, and also homemade as if a minstrel had made them while sitting around the campfire. _Surely this is simple enough for them to recreate?_ This would have to be his item taken for trade—it may not be shiny or pretty, but its make was so near to nature that the pixies were sure to find a kinship with it.

His guilt outweighed by his need to retrieve Elena's gift, he stuffed the reed pipes into the back of his breeches. As he exited, he double-checked that his tunic thoroughly covered his stolen goods while plastering on his best just-doing-my-job expression.

No one paid him a single iota of attention on his way back to the hills, and he knew that when the minstrels did notice the missing instrument he would never be suspected. Perhaps this was luck, or just a further compounding of his guilt. Whenever all of his secrets came to light, and everyone was busy deciding his death sentence, at least this was another tally for the noose instead of the pyre.

In the hidden shadows where he'd left the pixie that had started this whole mess, Merlin brandished the pipes and declared, "Here is my end of the bargain, where is yours?"

In an instant the Sidhe Elder had reappeared, her wrinkled face pulled into a sneer. "You did not mention you are from Camelot."

As he adjusted his magic so he could see the fast moving faerie, he also saw the red dress appear amidst the tall grass. Interesting. There were spells that could hide things in plain sight? "You never asked. Were you thinking of visiting?"

Her large blue ears twitched, and she narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "My mate left for there a short span ago, but he has yet to return."

Before she could connect the dots, Merlin sidled over to the dress and exchanged it for the pipes. "That's unfortunate. I bet he was a great Sidhe and normally I would love to hear all about him, but I have to run." As she snarled, he waved. "Have a good century!"

—

To any outsider, it would have appeared that Merlin spent half the day wandering drunkenly around the castle with red cloth.

He had folded this new package into his arms and scurried for the fastest route to the suite, but on his way had nearly flattened himself against Gwen and the other ladies returning from lunch.

He whirled behind a corner at the last moment, and Gwen and Miri passed him on their way to the royal's chambers. _Fie!_ How was he going to explain all this dirt on the dress' hem? He flatly refused to be accused of pulling a Leon.

Merlin returned outside and ran quickly around the base of the castle. On the way, he muttered a quick scouring spell that he'd used more than once on Arthur's armor, then balled the gift into a ball and got himself into position below the high window.

His tongue out in concentration, he readied, aimed, and tossed the dress with a heave. It sailed through the window and (hopefully) landed on the bed on his very first try. He looked about him now, hoping no one was spying on him out of high windows, then ran for the stone wall.

After years of being teased for being gangly and thin, his height finally came in useful. After launching himself from the ground with stunning physical prowess, he captured the sill of the window with his fingers. There may have been a little bit of magic involved, but what no one knew couldn't work against him.

His boots scrambled on large stones, and he half-dangled through the arched window when Gwen and Miri entered the room. He landed unceremoniously on his face. "Afternoon, your highness," he said from the floor.

His friend drew near and helped him stand and dust himself off. "What were you doing, Merlin?"

"Just, er…" he glanced out of the window at the hill and thought of the pixies and thieving and magic and that really amazing jump, "seeing how feasibly an assassin could enter the room. In fact, you should really keep this window closed." He turned on his heel and swung shut the wooden shutters and set their latch.

The room darkened considerably, though not dark enough for him to miss Gwen's raised brows.

"Now that I'm sure of your safety, I'll just be on my way." He patted the queen on the head and bowed to the servant-girl. _Dress didn't make it on the bed; there it was rolled under that table._ He strode confidently for it, flattened himself onto his stomach and yanked it out.

After shaking a bit of dust off, he handed it to Gwen very seriously. "Thieves, you know. Can't be too careful."

Then he marched out and slammed the door behind him before either female noticed the red of his ears.

—

Destiny's chores completed, Merlin returned to his normal servitude. Unfortunately, the day had flown away from him, and he had to hustle to complete at least the obvious tasks. This was not helped by the niggle at the back of his mind reminding him that the Sidhe had never boded well, and his time would be safer spent trailing Arthur's shadow.

With all that worry jumbled around in his head, it was no wonder he nearly forgot his promise to Miri. Luckily for his neglected romantic life, his stomach growled loudly and reminded him.

He made it to the square in time to catch her eye and wave before a sandy-haired man tapped her on the shoulder. Obviously trying to drop a few pick-up lines on the exotic servant, the man smiled winsomely and removed his boisterous hat with a flourish. Merlin hung back and fought off a smile as he watched the exchange.

Miri's dark eyes flicked back and forth between Merlin and her new suitor, so the man twisted about to block off her line of sight. His green robes fluttered with the wind, and Merlin had a moment to think the yellow stripes an odd accent, before his mind jolted into gear and realized this was one of the minstrels. His hat and clothes belied it, but the pipes hanging from a strap over his shoulder proved it.

The leather strap was new, but it was tied to the same homespun cloth that bound the same well-worn set of reeds that he had gladly handed over to a seditious Sidhe Elder.

Well, there went his appetite.

 _Do I steal them back?_ He thought in a panic. _Even if I freeze everything, I can't just run over there and grab them!_

"You look like a stunning dancer," the minstrel swept back, placed the pipes at his lips and put his hand out. "Turn about with me; have some fun." He blew a starting note and the entire square hushed and froze, magnetized to the music—no, chained to it.

On instinct, Merlin clapped hands over his ears. With a frustrated groan, he realized he had missed his only chance, and he was helpless to prevent the song continuing. Its magic did not affect him, but around him servants and nobles alike grew glassy-eyed and feverish. Even the minstrel himself donned a dopey smile and began to trip over his own feet during the hypnotizing dance.

Gawant was relapsing on Sidhe magic, and he had no resources or assistance to fight it.

He bound forward and snatched the pipes from the man's mouth, but the spell continued unbroken. "Merlin!" Miri shouted giddily. "I'm going to tell Vanora what aucelle _really_ means." She laughed. "Come with me!"

"No, don't do that, that's a terrible idea." He held her firmly by the shoulder and seized the minstrel by the arm. "This is half your fault so you are going to take this girl and not let her out of your sight." He waved a hand before the man's eyes. "Did you get that?"

"I want to dance!" The man crowed. "Dance like I've never danced before. Why ever walk? It makes you healthier, happier, hoppier…hah! Do you want to dance with me?"

"Maybe later," Merlin hedged. He pushed Miri towards the minstrel, and the man swept her away with barely a blink. "You'll thank me later, Miri. I just hope you wore comfortable shoes."

He still clenched the pipes in his fist, and his first thought was to burn them as quickly as possible. Forbærne flickered on the tip of his tongue, but intellectually he knew the Sidhe would not have made the pipes the vessel for this wide-ranging spell. No, these had been a catalyst, as a horn begins a battle but cannot end it, and his best chance at preventing Gawant's court from witnessing that battle's bitter end would be seeking out the faeries.

The sun sunk fast now, as it always did as day morphed into night. Merlin put the cord around his neck and slipped the pipes underneath his shirt. If he were wrong, he'd feel the magic beat its own rhythm against his heart.

Events were spiraling out of control. New music already lilted through the corridors from the Great Hall, and even more people succumbed to its spell.

The hills that had been fields of green that morning now were grey and slick underfoot. The grasses were snakes that slithered against his calves, and the breeze brought only a mocking parody of the sweet sounds usually made in a truer celebratory night.

She wasn't in the dip where they had met first, and he found no trace of her as he stumbled through the hills around. "Elder!" He shouted, and his eyes flashed gold in his irritation. A blast of wind escaped his usual barriers and flattened the sod around him. "Show yourself!"

The blue faerie winked into being before him, and the pulsing blue of her magic emanated glee.

"We had a deal, Sidhe." He pulled the instrument from his chest and tossed it onto the ground between them in fury.

"Apologies, little sorcerer, but you've caught yourself in a net cast decades ago."

"Always with the riddles," he muttered. "This is not an enchantment made during the Purge—this is a spell you've woven today for your own personal gain. You _will_ undo it."

"A being such as you cannot understand time as I do." The Sidhe hissed and the grass rattled ominously against his boots. "So know this and stand aside. My mate and I lived centuries before you even spoke the word magic, and one autumn he leaves me to claim a throne, and he never returns."

The shaking of the grass could no longer be ignored as lively strands tried to wind their way about his ankles. Her gnarled staff pulsed with a glowing ball of blue magic, and new joyous shouts calling for another song came from the castle.

She pointed a long fingernail at the noise. "That king still lives while mine is dead. Soon he will regret the day of his birth as we of magic do. Let him learn whom he has angered. Let him feel the power of the Sidhe!"

 _So, diplomacy is off the table._ "Maybe he just left you for a Sidhe who files her fangs more often."

Her staff tilted, and he had a micro-second to dodge as a bolt of blue lightning leaped for him. Suddenly face first in the dirt—the grass was knotting, tripping him—he put a palm into the ground and the other toward the faerie and _pushed._ The force of his magic propelled him nearly six feet into the air, and the elder was buffeted back.

The second bolt whizzed by his shoulder after a deft twist, and he landed hard on his side. But, his fist was already a ball of fire and it launched with a speed that rivaled the Sidhe.

The elder flitted to the side and the light passed close enough to illuminate her small face. Fury and power resided there, but when the fire reflected in her widened eyes Merlin also saw the terror. Even ancient magic still feared Uther and his pyre.

He recognized his own sharp stab of anguish as another layer of guilt burying into his soul. He had to destroy her, but, if nothing else, he would refrain from being a nightmare come to life.

His cyclone—a familiar and instinctive magic, whirled from his fingertips.

The Sidhe Elder, just a tiny ball of blue light against the black, tried to dodge but the ripping gale ensnared her, and her last bolt rent the air like a scythe. Even with his magically enhanced vision he lost sight of her in the maelstrom, but the grass still writhing and solidifying around his body told him she was still alive.

Perhaps he defaulted to fire and wind too often, surely due to his newer kinship with dragons, but he had grown up weaving spells of earth and rain. His voice, deep and thickened with gold said _Stop_ _!_ , but the magic that thundered through him felt as powerful as lightning.

It was as if he could feel every hair on his body, but those hairs were also the thousands of blades on the hill. To them, the air tasted like rain.

 _Release it, Merlin—_ and the stars seemed dimmer and his spit tasted like ash, but the cyclone dissipated and the grass lay flat. He shuddered as he returned more properly to his senses and vacantly watched the faerie's small form land heavily on the hill.

He crawled to her, not yet trusting his legs. Her ancient Sidhe body now looked so tiny and frail, and her wings lay limp and ripped to shreds. Her skin, now sallow and waxen, no longer held the vivid blue coloration so common in her race. Her magic had left her and without it she was just a dying bird on the hillside.

The Sidhe's staff was no longer than his pinkie, and he drew it from her delicately in order to disintegrate her with a small, final blast of magic. Then he ground the staff into dust under his palm.

His breeches had ripped, and his knee bled. His rib felt bruised from where he'd likely fell upon a rock, and his hands were covered in blood. Invisible, figurative blood, but blood just the same. Yet, Arthur was safe. And for that to always be true, he'd die swinging from a rope willingly and happily.

He caught himself. _Hopefully_ Arthur was still safe.

"Arthur?" He shouted. "Where are you?" He jogged over the hills and shouted again, again and louder when he still had no response. His insides felt cold and slippery. "Arthur!" He tried again, and then Gwen, and Gwaine, but no one…

Then he crested a hill, and below a crowd wreathed a prone figure, lying still by the river. " _Arthur!"_

He felt strangled, stifled. _Please not with such a simple trick. Not here, not now—this isn't right. I would know if he had died. I would feel it, wouldn't I?_

"Merlin?!"

—

No one ever did narrow down what happened. The minstrel found his pipe in the hills and assumed he'd left it there during the missing hours in his mind, and its connection to the spell had been lost with the death of the Sidhe Elder. That first day Merlin had worried about repercussions from the other pixies, but it turned out that fear had been groundless. Finally free of this Sidhe's power over them, they were overjoyed to just live their lives out of servitude. Last night some of the pixie children had found him and even tried to take him dancing.

Arthur gave the signal to head out, and Anemos started forward with the carriage trundling behind him. The sun shone brilliantly in the sky and Merlin took a deep breath of the fresh air. He felt content, and high on the feeling that things had turned out alright.

When the troupe exited the city's borders and returned to the dirt path that led to Camelot, Arthur swung round and poked him hard in the shoulder. The shock of it pulled him back down to reality, and he took in Arthur's glare and wondered just what he'd done wrong this time.

"I know what you were up to on Beltane, Merlin."

"You do?" At first he'd been wary, but no way this general level of Arthur prattishness equated with discovering his servant killed ancient faeries before dinner.

"And if I catch you sneaking off again to spend time with your new lady friend when you should be working…." He let his voice trial off in warning.

"What?" Merlin caught Arthur's glance towards the carriage, and his own glance went back and forth before he clicked on Miri. "That's not what I was doing at all. Saving your arse more like, while you were busy getting drunk and dancing in the field."

"If you were there, _Mer_ lin, you would have seen I was not dancing, but saving Elena's betrothed from drowning."

"I was there. Actually, it looked more like frolicking."

Arthur's glare deepened and Merlin grinned cheekily.

"Am I about to find out where that threat was headed?"

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Anemos roughly translates to 'wind' in Greek. I think Merlin's horse would have a bit of spunk and attitude, and Merlin would like that about him.  
(2) Everything Olly says is just superstitious references to pixie legends. "Pixie-led" is true to the mythology as well.  
(3) "One yellow stripe away from a good sard", Miri is basically calling Liv a prostitute. Prostitutes would wear something to show their profession, and in Camelot it's a yellow stripe. 'Sard' is the equivalent of modern-day 'fuck' for this story. I'll likely continue to use it as a curse-word :)  
(4) Sidhe is pronounced "Shee". Boy are they weird looking. Try an image search and see for yourself, I tried to explain it but I doubt I did them justice.  
(5) "Pulling a Leon", there was a time Leon wore a dress to assist in an escape.

 **Author's Note:**

That battle got crazy and Merlin got angsty. My Merlin has mood swings :)

Just like the show modified the legends for their own benefit, I did the same. I interrelated and modified the pixie superstitions to create a challenge for Merlin, and I had an awesome time doing it. Hope you all enjoyed the short adventure. Merlin's battles _against_ and _for_ magic are going to be an important theme for the first half of this year.

I now have this head-canon that Godwyn has a battalion of cavalry that could ride to aid Camelot if Arthur ever gets that highway built.

And as for Merlin and his romantic life... still suffering. I also think Merlin and Miri only think of each other as friends at the moment.

With that, the Introduction Arc is over! Whew! I'll name the next arc when I'm done with it—it should last about two months of story time. Druids, the Tournament of Camelot, and the beginning of at least three very important plot-lines!

To My Reviewers: Based on your reviews, Arthur pretty much stole the show last time hahah. Arthur and Merlin together are just so easy to write. I want to write more of them. Just have to get through a few plot things first! Hope you all enjoyed the mirror version of last chapter, and I want to reiterate...just knowing someone out there in the world is on the journey with me, and enjoying it, brightens my entire day.

StarlightInHerEyes22, Merlin as he should be, eh? Hope this chapter still felt that way—there will ever be bits of angst to come. Thanks for telling me how Arthur and Merlin stole the show at the ending haha their banter is still my favorite part of the show, hope I continue to do it justice. Mersan123, Magic was used, and Merlin saving everyone behind the scenes, just as you predicted! :) Arthur really can be a heartless prat sometimes hah! Nenagh, really glad Gwaine fooled you! I wanted you guys to realize it right alongside Gwen. I doubt I'd ever have Merlin acting behind the scenes and not tell you guys what happened. But...now that I think about it...it might be a fun mini-chapter. Maybe it will appear around Merlin's August :) Jewelsmg, hope Merlin's perspective met expectations! I'm really glad you mention Gwen. My initial purpose _was_ for Elena to be her friend, but just like you, I realized that Elena was just too...naive...to be a close friend. I love how you phrased how she's lost in her current position, and she is. She will find her way. It is important that she does in these three years.

 **Next time** : Pinky Promises. Arthur tries to follow through on a promise he made to a little Druid boy.


	11. Pinky Promises

—

 **Pinky Promises**

 _The Ides of May (May 8-15)_

Gwaine's newest bit of trickery resulted in him guarding the bell tower. Mostly, he was taking a nap to make up for the countless graveyard shifts Arthur had put him on, not to mention all the tramping about in the forest he'd had to do with his patrol while under orders to 'draw the bandits towards them'.

"Gwaine!" The door banged open behind him and Elyan appeared with a guard in tow. "I've been calling you."

He pulled his legs back from where they hung out into empty space and smiled innocently. "I rather enjoyed hearing a woman yelling my name."

Elyan socked him on the shoulder, his face full of exasperation. "Arthur summoned the Round Table. We're waiting on you."

"Well, no one told me anything," Gwaine said indignantly as they exited. The guard took his place by the bell and the two friends made the long walk back to the throne room. After they entered, Gwaine flopped into his usual seat and took note of Arthur's miffed expression. "Elyan caught me trying to steal your crown. I've been foiled again."

Arthur just shook his head. "I've got an announcement this morning, but first—"

"Wait, I want to guess!" Gwaine crowed. "Are you pregnant?"

Arthur squawked about his weight and Gwen blushed and folded her hands over her stomach.

Elyan misinterpreted this and said with shock, "Gwen, you're with child?"

Her blush deepened and, affronted, she said, "No! I am _not_!"

"I didn't mean to say you looked overweight—" Elyan stammered.

Arthur groaned loudly and slapped a hand on the table. "Gwaine, no more speaking or we will be here all day. My announcement is for a much more serious matter. Though, as I was saying, first we need to get through the mail." Arthur gestured at the scrolls in Merlin's hand.

"Right, so…" Merlin trailed off as he fumbled to unroll one sheet while holding the rest. "This is from…King Rodor in Nemeth. He says: 'Your wishes find us well, King Arthur—'"

"Skip all that," Arthur bade. "Just tell us the gist."

"Er…" Merlin began, eyes quickly scanning the letter. "He doesn't seem angry you picked Gwen over Princess Mithian. He sent you a gift and said he'll try to make it to the Tournament of Camelot."

"Very good news. Next."

"Lord Bayard from Mercia answered." Merlin's eyebrows inched up his head. "He's basically hinting that he hopes Gwen doesn't turn out to be a troll like Lady Catrina. He made an excuse about why he couldn't travel here, but says you should go and visit."

"He's testing your strength, sire." Gaius interjected. "I believe he wants to see if Camelot has weakened since your father's reign."

"He has made no move to attack or test our borders since the peace treaty was signed," Leon added on behalf of the defenses. "He was a cunning tactician in previous battles, but is a man of his word."

Arthur nodded along to both opinions. "I haven't met with him since he was falsely accused of poisoning me." He leaned back in his chair as he mulled his options. "I worry that riding out to Mercia at his command will make us look spineless." He turned to Gwen. "What do you think?"

Gwen placed a hand over Arthur's. "He will have heard many rumors both good and bad about myself and the knights," she looked apologetically at the group, but Gwaine took no affront. In fact, to him Gwen may have been a blacksmith's daughter, but she had always acted as regal as a queen. Rumors about himself, though, were a different story. "He is surely impressed by the very real challenges we've all overcome. I think meeting him will easily cement the solidity of your reign, and prove you aren't the young prince he last knew."

"Decided then, we will visit Mercia. Though, let's make him wait on us. We will say we are busy until at least Samhain." Behind him, Arthur heard Merlin snort. "Something funny, Merlin?"

"That's your plan? And you call me a girl."

" _It's a good plan._ Next scroll."

Merlin intentionally took a long time unrolling this one, just to watch Arthur's glare get squintier. After he had it fully unfurled, he finally looked down to read it only to laugh, "Queen Annis says, 'Congratulations.'" He swiveled the paper around so everyone could see. "Literally that's all she said."

"She doesn't mince words."

"You need to be more direct about requesting peace talks, Arthur."

"Yes, I see that now," Arthur replied grouchily. "I'll draw up something else."

He waved at Merlin to continue, so Merlin dumped all of the completed scrolls on the table and unrolled the last. "From Odin? I thought we decided we couldn't trust him?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, "but technically we have reached an agreement. Leaving him out of a general statement like this would just make things worse."

Merlin made a face but turned back to the letter, eyes again scanning the words. "Thanks for the play-by-play of your life. Not interested. Next time keep that pansy information to yourself."

Merlin tossed the scroll at Arthur just as the king demanded to see the missive for himself. Arthur snatched it out of the air and glared, and Gwen peaked over his shoulder to spy at the words.

"He does basically say that, Arthur."

Arthur tossed the scroll at the table and turned back to the knights with a resigned huff. He preferred to make Merlin squirm as recompense, but if Gwen agreed then he couldn't prolong the argument without unfortunate repurcussions. "I have decided we will secretly travel to the south—with full intentions of spying on Odin while looking for the witch."

" _You_ decided?" Merlin said indignantly.

"This sounds fun," Gwaine commented, finally sitting straight up.

"Any ideas on how to get to Cornwall without notice?" Arthur looked around the table.

A few of the knights offered options, but no plan kept their journey a complete secret. Finally, when someone said, 'Travel through the Labyrinth of Gedref, build a raft, and float into Deorham', he killed the conversation with a wave of his hand.

"Just think about it for next time."

Apparently they had annoyed him, since Arthur then furrowed his brows and stood from the Round Table. From Gwaine's perspective Arthur's expression was hidden as he looked out of the long windows, so he switched his glance to Merlin who had the only clear view of the king's face. This was why, when Arthur made his next statement, Gwaine clearly watched Merlin pale and his jaw drop.

"You're going to _what?"_ Leon exclaimed.

"I am going to go visit the Druids. We all are."

Gwaine spoke up. "Wait, this was your news? Not our camping trip?"

"What's our purpose there?" Elyan asked.

"This actually has to do with you," Arthur answered Elyan. "After you were possessed by the druid child, I promised him that I would treat the Druids with the respect they deserve. I'm not going to go back on my promises; not like Odin."

Merlin looked like he was biting down hard on an emotion, and wow, Gwaine hadn't known that Merlin had such strong dislike for the tribes.

"Morgana was kidnapped by the Druids, and soon after Morgause, and look what happened to her. We must be extremely careful, sire!" The room immediately fell silent at the mention of their greatest foe and former friend, and all eyes turned to Leon's worried expression.

Except for Gwaine's, that is. Merlin looked strangled, and that was fascinating.

"Iseldir has only ever helped us. Besides, we are five knights of Camelot with the promise of an army at our back. I do not desire to harm them, but if they try to pull something…well…our laws are still in place—are you quite all right, Merlin?" Arthur exclaimed as his servant clutched at a chair-back looking positively ashen.

"Just feeling a little ill, sire."

"Perhaps you shouldn't—"

"No, I—"

"I have a tonic in my chambers; he will feel much better after," Gaius said quickly, smoothing over his ward's argument.

Arthur apparently accepted this solution and turned back to Leon. "Will you be able to gather a list of those that trade with druids?"

"The lower town has been tight-lipped since your father's executions. I doubt I can provide a list in any reasonable stretch of time."

"Any other ideas on how to get in contact with them?"

"I believe I have a solution," Gwen chimed in timidly. All attention focused on her, and she blushed lightly—this being the first time she had commanded all of their consideration during a serious Round Table discussion. "While I still lived in the lower town, many children-of-the-woods would come to market to trade frogs and snakes for spare change." She hesitated. "They could be children from nearby farms, but I always believed they must be druids."

"The Mark of the Druid is usually absent on children," Gaius added thoughtfully. "It is highly probable that this is the only solution left to the clans."

Arthur looked pleased. "Merlin, you are the least threatening among us. You will approach these children and arrange travel with them."

—

'Arrange travel', Merlin scoffed. With children. What did Arthur expect them to do? Magically communicate with the clan from Camelot?

Sure, telepathy was possible, but Arthur didn't know that.

Merlin had been too late to the market after the Round Table meeting to catch sight of any druids, so this week he tried a different tactic. Early in the morning he climbed onto the roof of a thatch house nearer the outskirts of Camelot, and sat and stared at the activity below like a strange scarecrow.

This paid off, as only a few hours later a group of kids ran into the street carrying burlap sacks slung over their shoulders. Hesitantly, he stretched his thoughts to them and asked, " _Do you know who I am?"_

A few looked around, but most continued scurrying forward, trying to sell their sack for a farthing. Merlin sighed but was unsurprised. Gaius had later explained that the Triskelion tattoo only appeared on a Druid after they came of age and had received the knowledge of the Triple Goddess—or like in Mordred's case, once they had developed magic.

While he toyed with the idea of trailing the children all the way back to the camp and speaking with Iseldir himself, he saw a young female on the outskirts of the market. She wore a deep green cloak and had dark brunette hair—and watched the groups of children like a hawk despite her youth. Merlin estimated she was sixteen years of age.

He directed his thoughts towards her. " _I am a friend._ " Her blue eyes shot wide and she swiveled round, looking for the speaker. " _Up on the roof."_ She found him and glared, and he held up a hand placatingly. " _I just want to talk. Will you wait for me?"_

After her jerky nod, he descended and met her properly with a wide, apologetic grin. "I'm Merlin."

"Kara," she replied in a clipped tone. "I've heard of you through a friend. It's only through his word that I'm willing to hear you out."

 _I didn't expect that_ , Merlin thought to himself. Usually the Druids were fairly friendly with him. "You are a druid, right?"

"What is this, a setup?"

Merlin's brows rose, but he decided to just shake off the hostility. Kill her with kindness and all that. "I and a few others want to visit Iseldir. Could you take us there?"

"You and _the king?_ " She sneered. "Trying to kill Iseldir too?"

He took a mental step back, "Whoa, are we on the same page here?"

"So, you've conveniently forgotten how Arthur and his knights slaughtered Camelot's last druidic tribe?"

He sighed, "That is partially what this is about. Arthur wants to put that behind him, and he wants to prevent any more bloodshed. He _wants_ peace, Kara."

The girl's lip twitched as she suppressed a snarl. "Well, Iseldir will be happy to hear that. Fortunately for your king I can take him straight to that camp, though unfortunately for me that's only because my entire family is dead at his hand."

Merlin winced, "I am so sorry, Kara—"

She put two fingers between her lips and blew a shrill whistle. A few kids turned and began to scamper back. "Just tell him that if he fails to cover his tracks and ends up leading Lot's men to our camp, I'll kill him myself."

—

"Forgive Kara," Iseldir said quietly. "She is incensed for many reasons."

Gwaine watched their young guide stomp into the largest Druid camp he'd ever laid eyes on. Actually, Iseldir's was the _only_ Druid camp he'd ever laid eyes on, so that went without saying.

Mostly made of ramshackle wooden and cloth tents, the entire camp looked like a stiff wind would destroy it. Yet, it spilled throughout this clearing and into the wooded areas beyond—the quiet voices of its people blending harmoniously into the forest around them.

Iseldir himself, the Druid elder Gwaine had been reminded, had been waiting for them the moment they passed into sight. A few children had stood near his legs, but fled when they lay eyes on the knights.

Moments ago, Iseldir had cocked his head to the side as if listening, and now said to Arthur with a warm smile growing on his face. "So, you truly are ready to accept us?"

 _Druids can read minds?!_ Gwaine thought frantically. _I come in peace!_

Arthur cleared his throat. "You and any other elders are invited to Camelot for an official declaration of a friendship I wish to extend, and to offer your opinions on how we can overcome years of hostility amongst our people."

Iseldir paused and a few adults trickled out from the camp, a man and woman in particular coming to stand at Iseldir's back. "My people would say that your friendship comes at a high price."

 _Ouch,_ Gwaine thought. Arthur didn't so much as flinch, and he accepted the words with the perfect balance of remorse and pride. _Impressive._ "Many innocents have died within Druid clans _and_ within Camelot solely due to an old feud." Arthur's face scrunched up in the way it did before he said something distasteful—like when he had to admit that he had been wrong. "I regret the part I played, but I am also in a position of power to change things. I wish for peace. My question to you is whether you could see yourself in a similar position."

A long silence followed as Iseldir bowed his head. Occasionally he would tilt towards the man or woman, and a handful of times he nodded. Mostly, he just stared at the ground and had the knights all sweating buckets. _If that's not mind-reading, then I'm a tavern wench._

Finally he rose with crinkled eyes and a careful smile. "We welcome you, King Arthur, and your knights as true friends of the Druids. I have waited very long for this day." Grins and mutterings broke out around the conclave, and Iseldir held a hand up with an apologetic smile. "We have one stipulation."

Arthur nodded, essentially saying he would hear him out.

"I and one other agree to join you in your castle for talks. However, you must stay with us as guests for a week."

Princess hadn't practiced an expression for this one, and his eyebrows flew up into his blonde hair.

"Many of us trust you, though many others need proof of your intentions. A willingness to learn our ways as an attest to this sudden acceptance will go a long way for this clan, and many others who will only hear of this through stories."

Arthur nodded slowly, and scanned Merlin and the four knights behind him with guarded calculation.

"Leon, you and Merlin ride back to Camelot and tell Guinevere that we'll be staying the week."

Both men gained strained expressions, and Merlin said, "I _really_ think I should stay here _."_

"Don't argue with me right now, Merlin."

Merlin glanced between Arthur and Iseldir, and followed that by staring unblinkingly at the Druid Elder. Gwaine was surprised that the oblivious blondie had picked up on Merlin's clear dislike of the forest folk, but was nevertheless glad that he was sending Merlin and Leon away. No reason for them to stay and be uncomfortable.

Though, this just reminded him that he wanted to get Merlin alone so he could interrogate him—in a completely friendly way of course.

Arthur cleared his throat and spoke loudly. "Merlin, you're being rude."

This inexplicably made Iseldir chuckle, and Merlin tore his eyes away with a frown.

Iseldir said, "Go and we will follow," and unbeknownst to most he followed with, _He may be your destiny, but he is our hope. The Once and Future King is safe with us, Emrys._

Arthur strode up to Merlin and hauled him away with a firm grasp on his arm. Merlin flushed in embarrassment and Gwaine heard Arthur mutter: "Don't ruin this" and Merlin hiss back: " _Me_ ruin it?" before both men drew too far away to overhear.

Then followed the best game of Thou Shalt Not Blink that Gwaine had ever been a part of. Iseldir and the druids just stared eerily over his left shoulder—perhaps predicting the future?—and the remaining knights shuffled awkwardly on their horses.

Well, quite enough of that. He leapt off the saddle and landed squarely on both of his feet. When he noticed Iseldir watching him, he grinned. "Since we're going to be friends now," Elyan gave him a warning look and Percival smirked knowingly, "it's high time we broke out the mead!"

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) King Rodor and Princess Mithian, Nemeth. Series 4  
(2) Lord Bayard, Mercia. Series 1  
(3) Queen Annis and deceased King Caerleon, Caerleon. Series 4.  
(4) Odin, Cornwall. Series 2, 3, 4 and 5  
(5) The actor who played Mordred was about 12 when Season 2 aired, so I'm going with he'd be about 16 now.  
(6) Samhain, October 31st.

 **Author's Note:**

I don't remember a scene with Gwen at the round table in Season 4. The scene here may be her first time? At least it must be one of the first few times, right?

Percival had no dialogue at the round table—poor guy. I'll make it up to him.

My heart does go out for Merlin, but he also frustrated me when he never defended magic around Arthur. I know he is set on Arthur figuring it out for himself, but Arthur did that with the druids in S4. I need Merlin to be able to provide a more balanced opinion on magic, but if I'm going with how he is in the show I can't jump him to that point yet. I do have plans though…malicious, wonderful plans.

I did not expect the round table to take up 1500 words. That got out of control. My original intent for this chapter just did not happen…so...we'll properly meet the Druids next time!

Kara and Iseldir are both canon characters. Iseldir has a few appearances in the earlier seasons, and Kara shows up in Season 5 as the childhood sweetheart of Mordred's. She's never given a thorough backstory so I've tweaked it here.

A lot of other things happened while writing this chapter. I found the closing credits song for the midyear finale and it inspired me and blew me away. There is so much that needs to happen this year and next year and I just want to get there but I don't because I love simple arguments around the Round Table just as much….

To my reviewers: I hope I'm not writing Arthur too prattish! Two of you mentioned it! I do love that guy. I just love him and Merlin arguing more.

Mersan123, yup, Merlin just never gets the time. I think I'll try and get a Freya moment shortly. Glad the pixie/Sidhe stuff made filled in the gaps for you! Thanks as always for the compliments!  
Jewelsmg, the fact you laughed at Merlin poofing the Sidhe cracks me up. I didn't intend for it to be funny lol! But it makes me really happy that you could 'see' it and Merlin falling through the window so well. I love when Merlin's trying to lie quickly. I promise I'm updating between 5-7 days every time! I swear! Trying to chug them out as fast as I can.  
One Lonely Marauder, thank you thank you thank you! You made me feel wonderful :) I have much love for BAMF Merlin too, I just want it to build up to that instead of starting that way. Trust me, for as much as I love BAMF Merlin it will happen sometime in these three years. Glad you enjoyed Arthur and Gwaine and thanks for joining me on this journey!

 **Next time** : Seven Layer Upside Down Cake. The knights and Arthur spend seven days at camp and learn seven important lessons. Jackpot?


	12. Seven Layer Upside Down Cake

—

 **Seven Layer Upside Down Cake**

 _The Ides of May (May 8-15)_

After having already spent half a day on horseback, having to spend another riding back to Camelot only increased Merlin's grouchiness. Leon looked similarly sour but for his own reasons. Neither man paid much heed to the gorgeous weather around them.

"Why do you think Arthur sent me away?" Merlin exploded, then followed by muttering under his breath. "He never sends me away."

"I believe he was trying to prevent more arguments." Leon kept his eyes on the path, but Merlin looked at him incredulously. "What precisely did you say to Kara to get her so mad at us?"

Merlin squawked. "Her anger is _not_ my fault!" His expression grew darker. He was fortunate Anemos knew the way back to Camelot, because he considered their direction highly unimportant while lost in his grumblings. _This is ridiculous! I thought we were supposed to build Albion together!_

To push the blame off of himself, and to try and distance himself from this terrible betrayal, he turned the discussion towards Leon. "Well, what about you? What did you do to ruin the peace talks?"

Leon looked surprised to be asked. "Someone had to deliver the message to the queen. I did not do anything wrong."

"Arthur probably thinks you hate the Druids," Merlin replied candidly, uncaring of Leon's discomfort when he spoke like this.

"Iseldir saved my life. I have no ill will towards him." Leon reflected back on his own words at the Round Table, now worried he had upset the king. "Iseldir himself has earned my trust, but Camelot and her safety is my first priority. My feelings don't factor in."

The two men paused in their conversation as Anemos trotted over to a patch of flowers and began nibbling at them. The horse started to stomp and wiggle, trying to force Merlin off it's back. "Great, you don't want me here either?"

Merlin jumped off the saddle and simultaneously decided Leon got a bad rap. Everyone thought Leon aligned more with Uther's ideologies since he had been such a prominent knight under the tyrant's rule. But Leon was just doing his job as Captain of the Guard, just like how he himself was loping along dealing with Destiny's toss-ups.

"So, Arthur kicked us out because he is a stupid egg-head who understands nothing."

Since Merlin was making no moves to get his horse under control, Leon dismounted as well. "That is our king you are speaking of," he said without any real weight.

"We are going to tell Gwen we were riding all night to get her the news: Arthur is spending a week in enemy territory with the Druids."

"That would be a lie."

"But she will get mad at Arthur, and he deserves it."

Leon just shook his head, deigning not to answer, and drew his sword as he prepared to clear the area.

"You really don't care that he didn't want us to have a part in this?"

"Our part is carrying the message."

Leon moved into the shaded area of the trees, scanning leaves and logs with the eyes of a tracker. Merlin tromped after him, surprisingly still trying to have this conversation with him. If it didn't let up, he'd have to remind Merlin that he wasn't Arthur.

"Say something bad about him." Leon barely had time to refuse before Merlin continued. "Here, I'll start things off—"

Leon just sighed.

—

That first morning, Arthur woke when Elyan gave a huge snort in his sleep. He and the other knights had opted to rest outdoors rather than take their host's bed, so they had taken over a large fire pit in the center of camp.

A few druids had already awoken, and Arthur turned his head to the side as he watched them do simple things like hang sheets over clotheslines to air them out, and pull weeds from their gardens. A hundred other minor chores occurred around him, chores that people did in Camelot every day that he had usually been happy to ignore; yet now it intrigued him. He knew he was being silly. But, some small part of his mind had expected the Druids to be different.

Arthur rolled from his bedding and crouched on the ground to curl it back into a less obtrusive shape. Iseldir approached as he did so, the elder man dressed in his usual grey and forest-green robes. "Will you walk with me, King Arthur?"

He nodded, and Iseldir held out a boiled potato which he took gladly.

Together they wove through the camp, tents and gardens and firepits strewn at random through the clearing and trees beyond, and they exchanged the usual pleasantries. Iseldir had a kindness in his eyes that only grew as he looked upon his people, but hidden carefully behind it was a wariness. Arthur realized with a start that the calm peace he had always thought he saw setting this man's shoulders was in fact something else entirely.

"When you change the laws in Camelot, I will move this camp within your borders."

It looked as if Iseldir was testing the waters, so Arthur did his best to assuage the leader's worries. "You and your people will be accepted. I will treat you like any village of Camelot. If others threaten you—"

"You would go to war to protect a Druid camp?" Iseldir smiled wryly, and Arthur's tongue tied in his mouth. "I just ask for stability. I want to clear out trees, and irrigate gardens, and organize a camp with an intention of staying permanently. I want a place for the children to safely call home."

A lump formed in his throat, because even now he could not give up the guilt in his heart. "You will have that." At Iseldir's words he had better noticed the children peering at him from behind trees and tent-flaps. When he faced them, they fled in moments. "They are afraid of me."

"No, they are not, King Arthur," Iseldir responded benignly. "They are amazed to have seen you with their own eyes." The thoughtful confusion must have shown on his face, because Iseldir continued. "They think you are the Once and Future King."

Arthur frowned. "I have heard that before. I cannot remember…" he trailed off.

Iseldir hid a smile. "Have you now?" He crouched down and beckoned one of the elder children to join them. "Cecht, this is the King of Camelot. Why don't you introduce him to the others?"

The young boy gave a jerky nod and then whispered, "Is that really the sword from the stone?"

Arthur slapped a hand over his scabbard in surprise—while not a secret, that particular detail had not exactly been broadcast either. Iseldir, once again, read him easily.

"I have a friend in Camelot who occasionally passes along news." Iseldir continued quietly, "Forgive him, for you have been my sole hope for a long while."

By this time, Cecht had begun to draw Arthur away towards a group of children starting to form near a large tree. _A Druid sympathizer in Camelot?_ Arthur thought, still shocked. _All these years? So close to the crown?_

He turned back to look at the Druid Elder, parts of him wanting further answers while other pieces knew that, with his new laws, it should not matter to him. Behind him, an old man's frame curved—tall, proud shoulders hunched by an invisible weight. Iseldir's eyes were cloudy with some emotion, and Arthur finally registered what that _something else_ was.

The impression Arthur had of Iseldir was a wise, calm, and experienced leader. While true, Arthur now saw the parts of Iseldir that made him a man like any other. The wrinkles in his face meant more than age; they explained a world-weariness begat by years of strife and fear. His quiet, appreciative love for his people stemmed not from their peaceful life, but from the forced realization that every extra day with them was a gift.

A child tugged at his breeches, and Arthur's attention pulled from the man behind him to the little ones at his feet. Yet, even as he did so, he made a promise to Iseldir and the Druids and whatever else listened to him from within the trees. _I will do right by your people_.

 _I swear it on every grave I have dug._

 _—_

The second morning, Gwaine stuffed an apple in his mouth while he washed his hands in a basin. Percival approached, but put his back to the water as he looked out at the camp. "I see the kids really like you," Gwaine said, albeit muffled.

"They have decided I am their horse." When Gwaine finished Percival turned to the water and cupped a few mouthfuls.

"Any lovely single mother's you'd like to introduce me to?" Percival just laughed. "Hey, Percy…" Gwaine started, hunching over the basin with him and trying to keep his voice quiet. "Don't you think it's odd how, whenever we're talking to them, they just stare at us for a really long time?"

Percival blinked at him. "Maybe they're just thinking."

"Too much thinking can be a problem," Gwaine said offhandedly, then whispered, "I think they can read my mind."

Percival chuckled. "Yes, too much thinking is a problem for you."

Gwaine shoved the giant in the arm but he barely shifted. Percival only flashed a cheeky grin at his friend and moved off, back to hang out with all his new druid friends in the camp.

He frowned, then thought stiffly, _I am going to get some proof!_

So he wandered around the camp until he found a good rock to act as a chair, and then he set up a vigil on the surrounding druids. When a woman came outside to start grinding grain in a pestle, Gwaine had found his target.

He stared at her deeply and tried to throw his thoughts towards her. _"Can you hear me?"_ She didn't flinch. _"There is a snake by your left foot._ " She didn't so much as glance over.

Maybe words didn't work. He tried emotions. He thought strongly of hate, then joy, then love—well, lust if he was honest—but she continued obliviously grinding away.

Perhaps they were all prepared for him. Iseldir had probably told them all to act normal, and if he wanted them to react, he'd have to think something that would surprise them. Surely, they hadn't expected a knight with his history to come wandering into their camp to ruin their secrets.

He mulled his options. What to broadcast? He decided on a particularly pornographic image that, after all this time, was still burned onto the inside of his eyelids. He really should have stayed longer in Framlingham—ah hah! That old man had dropped his carrots! That had to mean something right?

Gwaine stood in a flurry of movement and hurried to grasp the man by the shoulders. _You won't escape me that easily!_ "Did you see it?" He didn't even blink as he stared at the man's face, willing the slightest flinch or evaded eye movement to prove there was something afoot here.

The old man raised his eyebrows, and then his eyes tracked askance to the woman grinding grain. They shared a long look, even longer than necessary look, in fact they just doing that staring thing, and then the man just asked him politely to unhand him and walked off.

Gwaine strode away quickly, embarrassed but mostly lost in a whirl of cranial activity. Maybe he had this all wrong. Reading minds did sound a little preposterous anyways. More likely, they had some sort of silent face language where conversations could be had through subtle facial twitches.

He caught a female by the arm as she strode past with a basket full of vegetables. He gave her a slow wink and she responded with a face full of disgust. After she had torn her arm away and stalked off with her nose in the air, Gwaine smirked to himself. Yes, he was definitely on to something.

That evening, after many little tests performed on unsuspecting druids, Gwaine returned to their central firepit feeling quite pleased with himself. He clapped Percival on the shoulder, then plopped mirthfully onto his rolled up bedroll.

"You look like you have come to a momentous decision, Sir Gwaine."

Iseldir had already made it a tradition to tell a Druid legend every evening, and the man had only just arrived with Arthur and other druids in tow.

Arthur looked to Gwaine with interest, curious as to what his knight had discovered. Gwaine drew himself up. "Yes, I have decided you cannot read my mind."

Iseldir chuckled. "You would be correct. We cannot."

Other druids glanced between themselves in obvious amusement, and a female snickered quietly before her companion smacked her on the arm.

—

On the third day, Percival let Cecht stand on his shoulders and tie a length of rope onto a high branch. The gaggle of children swarmed around his legs, eager for the rope swing to be completed, and hoping for a chance to see the world from Percival's height.

Cecht patted him on the head, telling him the knot was done, and Percival swooped him down onto the ground while the boy laughed in delight. Then, he stood and tightened the knot and tested it with a tug that shook the entire tree.

"All this time together, and I haven't even seen you do a single push up." Gwaine said from below, where he was still trying to secure a plank of wood to the other end of the thick twine. Percival responded by grasping the branch with a hand and easily lifting himself off the ground. "Stop looking so smug, and use that power for good."

Percival raised a brow.

"Find a shirt with sleeves so there will actually be some odds against you at the tavern."

He just laughed. When he looked up he caught Cecht running back towards them, and tracked his former path to an elder man in the trees. Percival recognized him as a man he had seen talking to Arthur, and whom Arthur said was in charge of the camp's defenses.

A question had begun to plague him, so he left Gwaine with the increasingly excited children, who had started to crawl onto the knight's back, as we went to speak to the man.

He was a short man—well, everyone was short compared to Percival—with close-cropped black hair and dark robes to match. "Percival."

The man shook his hand. "My son told me about you. I am Cael."

"I want to know how you protect this camp," Percival announced quietly.

A droll expression overtook Cael's face. "I expected one of you would ask. You must know I can't answer."

Percival did not bother trying to argue with him, or convince him through flowery words and political trickery. He did not let his stature threaten the man in front of him. Instead, he just stated the facts and let the man decide things for himself. "Cenred razed my entire village without warning."

The small man looked up at the knight, weighing his honor and his honesty. Finally, Cael sighed. "Walk with me."

Cael took him through the outer tents and to the outskirts of the camp. In continued silence they walked the entire border. They ended their circuit in dappled shade.

"What did you see?" Cael asked.

Forest stretching as far as the eye could see. Muted shades of green and blue the only colors on both clothing and hearth. Four Camelot horses tied up on the western end. "No paths leading here."

Cael nodded. "No nearby streams. No landmarks." He cast his arm across the camp and gestured to where both men knew lay Lot's castle. "Most of our defense is learning how to be invisible."

"I see," Percival said softly. His mouth quirked at the corners in a self-deprecating smile. "I thought there would be a technique I could use against a future raiding army."

"Rings of salt? Evil-eye pendants hanging from the trees?" Cael laughed grimly. "I shouldn't show you this, but….come."

With a gesture they moved deeper into the woods. The tents shrunk behind them until they blended into the shade of the trees, and the scenery became a monotony of browns and greens. Cael was right that it would be very difficult to find the camp without specific knowledge of its presence. At a shallow embankment, Cael caught his arm and stilled them both.

Slowly, the small man crouched down and grabbed a fist-sized rock. "Watch," he bade, and then carefully tossed the stone into the shade beneath the outcropping of dirt at their feet.

A claw whipped out and snapped it out of the air.

Percival sucked in a breath and took a step back from the ledge. "Serkets."

"They are not so active in the day, but they are an impenetrable wall at night." Cael stood and began walking back to camp. "If our enemies come for us, at least we will see them coming."

Percival was quiet as he worked out the implications. Serket nests could grow large, but to find one so close to the perfect hiding spot was unlikely. Cael had planted and cultivated them here, likely many years ago.

Surely many innocent people had died in that trap…but the Druid's secret had remained.

"I can see you are repulsed," Cael said softly. "The king you follow is a good man. Do not expect to find many of those left out here."

—

On the fourth morning, Arthur sat up in his bedroll with a specific purpose in mind.

They had been there four evenings now, and by now Iseldir had introduced him to the main circle of druids that often provided advice and opinions to their Elder. That group usually joined the knights in the evenings to offer their own stories on the history of the Druids. However, every evening a blonde woman emerged from the crowd, sitting very near to Iseldir's right, and listened attentively to the dialogue.

Most other druids ringed around them, listening from afar so they could come and go on their whim, and comment without disrupting the leaders' discussions.

So, her odd behavior combined with her anonymity intrigued him, and he set off to find her.

Despite the enclosed area that the druids had to remain in she was surprisingly difficult to locate. By now he had a fairly good map of the camp in his head, and weaving between and around clusters of dwellings did not confuse him. However, he had erred by looking for blonde hair, or for a feminine dress.

When he found her—he was a stellar hunter after all—she was covered in a thick leather apron, with cloth bound around her mouth and hair. When her grey eyes connected with his, he recognized her from her effusion of competence; a trait she had carried with her even while silent around a firepit.

After he introduced himself, she replied curtly. "I am Forridel."

For a few minutes he watched her at her task. Before her was a large wooden cross with a deerskin stretched between the points. Her hands held a long blade that sloughed off the flesh from the inner side of the pelt, the blood and skin falling in small heaps at her feet. It was a thankless job—one he was glad to hand over to the tanners of Camelot.

Leaning against her tent was a simple metal sword, and it was a surprise to see one amongst the Druids. Very rarely he had come across a camp where the inhabitants had anything more dangerous than a knife. "Are you a warrior?"

She snorted. "Just a woman trying to protect herself."

Before they fell back into silence Arthur brought up what he had came here for. "Iseldir seems to respect you. You, Bleise, and Iseldir met us upon our arrival, but we have not been introduced. Are you one of the Elders?"

She shook her head. "I am an asset—not many adults in this camp don't have the mark."

"The—" Arthur made a symbol of a triangle with his fingers as he described, "the three swirls?"

"They call it a Triskelion."

The conversation lulled as she finished her task and stabbed the blade into the dirt. Crouching down, she began to bundle the flesh up, likely to be tossed out or fed to the hogs.

"You are not a druid," Arthur ultimately concluded, after piecing together her use of the word 'they' and the other oddities in her behavior.

She looked at him wryly. "I am a citizen of Camelot."

Her experiences with the druids as an outsider would make incredibly valuable information. Iseldir must keep her close for the exact inverse. "I admit I am curious as to what brought you here. Will you tell me your story?"

She sighed and replied stubbornly, "I have to salt this by afternoon, or it will rot."

"I can assist."

Forridel eyed him critically, likely doubtful a former prince and now king had ever salted a pelt in his life. She would be right. Though, there couldn't be much to it, could there?

"You can be my waller then, your majesty." She went into her tent and returned with a large bucket of brine, which she shoved into his hands. "Pan's in the back."

Why had he thought any of this was a good idea? People in Camelot actually respected him.

Behind the tent a small fire smoldered underneath a thin, leaden pan. Likely started this morning, most of the water had boiled off and left a salty residue on its bottom. He pulled the knife from his boot and scraped out small scoops until her shadow fell across him.

Forridel had removed her leather apron and cloths, and now was more recognizable as the woman from the evenings. Her blonde hair was tied into a complicated knotty braid on the back of her head, and the skin around her mouth had begun to loosen with the onset of wrinkles. She looked to be about Leon's age. "You haven't done this either, have you?"

"If you are a citizen of Camelot, you'll remember we received most of our salt through trading with the coastal 'Wich's."

"We don't get many salt town traders out here," she replied. She lay out an old cloth upon the ground, and they stretched the pelt across it—the inner lining facing upwards. Then she reached into the trough near the fire and scooped out a handful of salt.

"Were you a pelt trader in Camelot as well?"

"I did leather in Camelot, when I had my tools." She rubbed the salt over the skin with circular motions of her fingers. "The Druids brought me tannin from the trees, and I gave them leather in return."

She had been sharp with him at first, and that, mixed with her no-nonsense personality, meant she hadn't moved out into the woods because she wanted to be closer to nature. He or his father had done something to force her out, and he was wary to ask her to elaborate. But, Arthur was not one to shy away from harsh truths—not any longer. "And why did you leave?"

"Knights burst through my front door, coming to arrest me in Uther's Midlife-Crisis Purge of the lower town."

Arthur had expected it, yet still he subtly winced.

"Luckily your servant pulled me out just before. I escaped execution that day. I had no choice but to run to the Druids. Yet by the time I got to the camp, most were dead—"

Forridel continued to softly explain her journey, from finding the few that had escaped, to making the long walk together to Iseldir's camp with nothing on her back but her red Camelot dress. When she had finally established herself here she had thought to burn it, but the color proved too valuable. With it, she could venture into Essetir's nearby villages and walk free.

Even as the words met his ears, a full understanding of her story would not come until much later. Because now, he was stuck on a very important fact she had dropped so carelessly.

"My servant?"

She grabbed another handful of salt. "The man with the blue eyes. You sent him away."

Arthur's mind was reeling, immensely uncertain on how to interpret this information.

 _But his face after he'd announced….It was like him to want to save….Iseldir had mentioned a friend—_

Arthur stopped his race for an explanation as if he'd physically yanked the reins back. There was a completely reasonable answer to this, but he would need space to find it. Now was not the time to lose himself in fanciful stories like a lady at court.

He shook himself, and then he poured more brine into the pan.

Instead, he forced himself to think on an offer of resettlement to Forridel. Should he build her a hut? Would she even accept? What if it put her in danger from residents who didn't agree with his new laws?

He pushed himself further away, to an even less emotional debate on the merits of druidic trade and the economy of the lower town—

—

Elyan did not make friends as quickly as the other knights. By the fifth morning, he had given up on finding some common thread with the druids and instead just returned to an old hobby.

In the time he had spent away from home he had picked up woodcarving to keep his hands busy. Now, as a knight and returned to his duties as blacksmith, he felt even more restless without something to do.

Deep in the forest as they were, it did not take long to locate a linden tree—its broad green leaves and smooth, thick twigs easy to pick out from the crowd. The shade of its canopy had been a roof over his head during many a journey, and he carved out a fist-side chunk of wood with a small smile on his face as he remembered the peace of those moments.

His pocketknife quickly shed the bark for the light-colored wood beneath, and he quickly lost himself fastidiously chipping off sharp edges, and then in steadily forming the shape he saw hidden within the oval.

A rustle above him made him glance up, and his eyes locked with a dark-skinned youth. The young man—or older child, Elyan couldn't quite place his age—smiled apologetically, and reached again for the small linden berries hanging between the leaves. "What are you carving?"

"I think it is one of your tents," Elyan replied, curiously turning it about in his palm. The conical structure with its thin cylindrical rod sticking from one end was reminiscent of them.

"Oh," the teenager replied, eyes lingering on the shape. "I thought it was a pyre."

Elyan's eyebrows rose. _That was depressing. He wasn't the kind of guy who sulked in the woods and carved pyres, was he?_

The youth did not seem to care. "Would you teach me how you do that?"

"Sure," Elyan grunted, working his knife up the center until he split the carving in half. "Better than creating a miniature pyre."

The boy grinned and took the offered chunk of wood. "Would you like some linden tea? It's very good."

Elyan was not feeling very thirsty, but he understood the meaning behind the offer and stood to follow. After grabbing a few more pods from the tree the young man led him back to the camp and plopped the seeds into an already boiling pot of water. "What's your name?"

"Aglain," the boy replied, his own dull knife in hand as he tried to copy Elyan's motions. Offhandedly he continued, "It wasn't my first name, but after I got my mark I switched."

"Less like a potato, more like a carrot," Elyan offered as advice. "Do druids usually change their names?"

"Iseldir said my mark was in the same place as his friend, and Aglain is dead. Maybe his spirit passed to me...if you believe in that sort of thing," the boy replied impishly.

Elyan squinted. He could specifically remember putting a ring of salt around his bed in fear of the druid boy, so yes, he did believe, though he did not wish to. "Is that really the name you want?"

The teenager shrugged. "Better than Aonar." A larger chip of wood flew off, but his sunny smile did not diminish. "It meant 'alone'."

Elyan reached over, and pointed out a deep divot on the boy's carving. "Try not to dig too much out in one area so early on. The wood handles worse after." The boy nodded in thanks and Elyan did not fail to notice the one-man abode they sat at. "You don't have a family."

"Iseldir and the other adults are my mothers and fathers. The children are my brothers and sisters. I may not have known my true parents, but I don't mind." The boy shrugged again.

For a flicker of a moment, Elyan saw it—how every druid here had the shadows of their family around them—one person out of two, or three, or four that once had been. Even a knight of the Round Table and the Queen of Camelot had not escaped the same fate.

There was not a single family unaffected by Uther's purge.

—

That sixth morning, Iseldir blatantly ditched him. The Druid Elder said he wanted to speak with all the people before he rode for Camelot tomorrow with the knights. That was all well and good, but what was he, King Arthur, supposed to do now?

He stood solidly in place, widening his stance in a confident manner, trying not to look like a maiden left at the altar.

"That is a great sword, King Arthur."

Bleise had appeared at his side, his small eyes studying the weaponry at Arthur's side. Arthur wondered at the assertive knowledge and asked curiously, "Are you a smith?"

"No."

After the truncated response, Bleise turned and walked away. Arthur jogged to catch up. "Will you be traveling with us tomorrow?"

"Yes, as master of histories for the druid peoples, Iseldir has requested my presence in your council."

Now that they walked alongside each other Arthur was eager to keep the conversation moving. "Your poem on the Triple Goddess was very good," he blurted, referencing a story from the firepit earlier in the week. "Geoffrey, my historian, would love to hear it and record it in his records."

"I wonder, will Geoffrey have a story to trade?"

Arthur mused over the dry epics he'd had to sit through as a youth. "Yes, he has many odes he has written."

"An ode can be truth, or it can be lies, but it is always a slant on history. A story is only a dream based in truth. There is a difference. If I trade a recent druidic ode, you will gain only a tragedy."

Honestly, he was getting tired of everyone here piling the guilt onto him. He had requested peace talks, hadn't he? "Perhaps you can write a happier one while in Camelot."

They walked on in sour silence, interrupted only by other druids requesting Bleise's advice. These men and woman walked with a stronger step, and watched him with a harder gaze. It made Arthur's hand itch to hold Excalibur's hilt. _I wonder if we will ever trust each other_.

"Do you know the legend of the Once and Future King?" Arthur asked. Iseldir had referred to it earlier, and he wondered now if it would play a factor in the druids' trust, or lack of it, in him.

"It is not a legend," Bleise said sharply. _Yes,_ Arthur thought argumentatively, _I am quite aware you believe you know all truths._ "It is merely a curiosity, like Emrys of the Incubus, or the entwined dragons. I prefer not to waste words on fantasy."

"Forget I asked," Arthur replied curtly. He turned his head while trying to internalize a huff of aggravation. As he did, the enraged step of the brunette that had led them to the camp, Kara he remembered, caught his attention as she made her way towards them.

She looked at him with a gaze so full of fire that he moved a step back. He told himself it was to give them space, but truly it was to prevent a scene. Her fingers fisted into Bleise's sleeve, and she tugged his arm as she hissed.

Arthur was an honorable man, so he turned his head to the side to avoid watching whatever words her lips formed. However he was also a prat, as others were unafraid to tell him, and this was why he listened with the ear that now could clearly hear Kara's stream of vitriol.

"You promised you would stop Iseldir from spouting that nonsense."

"As a Druid Elder, he is entitled to his own interpretation."

"He is blind. He will not fight for us. He will demand nothing in return for our suffering."

Bleise could be heard shifting from one foot to the next as Kara kicked at something. "Allow this try for peace before focusing on wrath."

"I thought you were like me; I thought he had not brainwashed you yet with his golden prophecies," Kara snarled.

Bleise responded sternly. "I still have many questions, but I will make no assumptions until I have proof."

"I know what you will do. You will eat at their fancy table and accept their silken gifts paid for by our blood!" She pounded her fist on her chest, and Arthur backed away again, though this time wholly in surprise. This girl was an enemy, and he could not pretend otherwise. "You will be taken in, you will be a slave to false hope, and _he_ will kill us all."

"That is only one future out of many, and I do not put much stock in prophecy."

"Iseldir is blinded by it," she hissed. "But the dogs of war will come, as they always have."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Iseldir's camp is in Essetir, formerly Cenred, now Lot's lands.  
(2) Cael and his son Cecht are new characters. Forridel and Kara are canon characters. Bleise is somewhat in between, but I'm going to leave it there to not spoil anything.  
(3) Triskelion is a Celtic symbol used in the show—it's also the cover image for this story. In the show, they used counterclockwise for good, and clockwise for bad.  
(4) I may or may not have upped the technology for tanning in the 5th century, but I don't care. Also, the "'Wich's" Arthur is referring to are some of the original salt towns of Britain: Nantwich, Middlewich, and Northwich. There is another town called Droitwich that is closer to central Camelot. #Wikipedia #ArtisticLicense  
(5) Oh, and my assumptive water well _and_ brine well in the middle of a forest? That's just #magic.

 **Author's Note:**

I'm not sure what I was trying to teach the knights this time. Actually, I did have an idea, but once again the characters had a mind of their own.

I'm of the opinion that there are many possible futures, and so there would be many conflicting prophecies, or at least, many interpretations of those vague prophecies. That's what's going on there in Kara and Bleise's section. I think Kara has heard Mordred will kill Arthur, and Bleise has gathered so many possible futures that it's enough to know nothing is set in stone. Like how I just made _everyone's_ canon divergence fics headcanon? Because I just did.

Also, Leon cracks me up. He is so used to taking orders or giving orders that he doesn't know what to do when Merlin argues with him.

I realized that I'm doing this weird thing where I switch from standard storytelling to drabbly things. I think I like it? I honestly don't know where it's coming from, and I certainly didn't plan to do that when I started this whole thing.

In other news, I found the song for next year's midyear finale. I could barely survive without it while writing this chapter. Perhaps that's why so many took on a melancholy tone.

—

To my reviewers: Almost everyone had something to say about Gwaine! Gwaine has noticed that something is up, and these oddities are going to start accruing in his mind. (And I am loving Gwaine sniffing around Merlin's secrets). But, Arthur picked up on a track this week as well. And they're both still so far away from the truth... Don't fear though, someone is definitely finding out this year, but you're just going to have to wait to find out who...

Nova: Thank you for your reviews. I'm interested to see where they go as well ;)  
Mersan123: I agree, but an observant Gwaine is canon too, the writers just forgot! In the episode where Gaius is kidnapped, I think Gwaine is very observant. And as for Iseldir and Merlin, we won't hear what they spoke about in Ch.11, but we will definitely hear their conversation in Ch.13! Thanks as always!  
Linorien: Thank you! I love the almost behind-the-scenes stuff. Glad you enjoyed Merlin perching like a scarecrow, hah!  
Jewelsmg: Percival was quiet again, but he did get some dialogue which I'm happy about. Definitely strong and silent this time, yes? I had this ready to post yesterday but work got in the way, sorry :(  
KIMMIKY: Yes, whenever you want him :) Merlin is definitely Arthur's right hand man, Arthur just hasn't realized or admitted it yet. Thank you for loving the banter! I am really glad it brightens your day, that was a big compliment you paid me. If there is anything else you're looking forward to reading drop a hint, I may be able to include it.  
Nenagh: Round table meeting was fun to write, took complete control over me. Don't worry about missing a chapter review! I pretend the 5th season didn't happen, hence this story haha. Gwaine will never die here... Also, Emrys as a god. I seriously intended for Arthur to find out about this "Emrys" that was a god to the Druids, a la the Triple Goddess. Instead he found out about the Once and Future King title. Sigh.

—

 **Next time** : Cinderella. It's a game of desires ending in a slip of glass—The Druids arrive in Camelot, and Merlin's invisible role of adviser fits like the perfect shoe.


	13. Cinderella

—

 **Cinderella**

 _The Kalends of June (May 16-31)_

On the seventh morning they left the Druid camp.

A handful of men and women followed them to the nearest path, and then traveled backwards, obscuring the trail the knights and their horses had left behind. Arthur had ridden ahead while Elyan brought up the rear—Percival and Gwaine leading their own horses in the protected center. Arthur had given Iseldir and Bleise their seats, though this arrangement was not due to some punishment, but rather because of their individual strengths on and off horseback.

Luckily, so far their return to Camelot was largely uneventful, and they had not ruined the burgeoning peace with any unfortunate injuries.

A rustling in the trees drew Percival's attention and he tightened his grip on his horse's reigns. He would not allow any harm to come to Iseldir.

The Druid Elder had turned his head to the forest as well, but his eyes had crinkled in pleasant surprise. He removed the green druidic hood from his hair and calmed the horse with a graze of his fingers. Moments later Merlin appeared from the brush, leaves and brambles running amok in his raven hair.

"Arthur! Right on time!" He called cheerfully. His eyes connected with Iseldir's, and they smiled at each other before Iseldir gave a small nod.

Arthur caught the glance, and he frowned at the implication. "How did you know we were here?"

"I didn't," Merlin held up a small satchel. "I was just picking herbs for Gaius."

If Arthur suspected something else, he said nothing. Honestly, Percival was surprised to see the furrowed brow on Arthur's face in the first place. It was just Merlin, after all.

They continued their journey westward and Merlin slid into the queue. Eventually Arthur spoke again. "I made a mistake sending you back to Camelot."

Merlin huffed and crossed his arms. "I'm glad to hear you admit it!"

Arthur studied him with an inscrutable expression. Merlin's blank face belied nothing, but his glance back at Iseldir only made Arthur's expression darken. "You were enough trouble this past week without even being there."

"Huh? What did I do?"

Unfortunately for Percival's confusion, the party then arrived at the gates of Camelot and the conversation ended abruptly. Arthur sent Merlin away to ready a bath for him, and Percival was sent ahead to speak with the Reeve about rooms for their guests. Elyan trotted off to report to Leon, and Gwaine had unsurprisingly disappeared.

Percival sighed. If any of his friend's duties got delegated to him, Gwaine was going to plop his head onto his pillow tonight and find it filled with nettles.

—

After dumping the last bucket of water into the royal's tub, Merlin glanced behind himself and then down the Solar's stairs. With a flash of gold and a murmur from his lips the water reheated, and just in time, as Arthur strode into the rooms moments later with a frown on his face.

The prat ignored him and began to unlatch his cloak from his throat. "Are you planning on watching me undress?"

"I need to check what is up your arse."

Arthur turned to him with narrowed eyes. "Send word that I'm calling the Council together."

Merlin grumbled to his feet and stomped down the stairs. Leave it to Arthur to ruin a perfectly good day.

The throne room was empty as usual, and he ducked his head as he stepped over the dais, his eyes flashing gold as the water upstairs notched a few degrees higher. He lolled around, smiling at Ellen as she came to polish the Round Table, and chuckled under his breath when he heard Arthur's yelp. _Serves him right._

Arthur shouted his name in that particular way of his that screamed annoyance, but Merlin just winked at Nellie's mother and escaped into the hallway.

 _"Emrys?"_

Merlin faltered in his steps a moment, but then continued before someone noticed. " _Yes, Iseldir?"_

 _"Can we speak before the council meeting this evening?"_

 _"Sure,"_ Merlin skirted around a handmaiden heavily laden with wax candles. " _I need to call the council members first."_

 _"Sir Percival has sent a man in a green cap to do so already."_

Merlin turned on his heel and caught back up to the servant he'd passed a moment ago. "Are you going to the Council Room?" She nodded, and he pulled most of her burden into his arms. "Me as well. I'll help." Merlin thought back to Iseldir, _"Can you meet me there?"_

He sensed Iseldir's nod, and then the man's presence left him.

While mulling over the oddness of _feeling_ Iseldir's offhand gesture, he tried to relax the girl next to him with friendly comments and jokes. Mostly she clutched her candles tighter to her chest and blushed into the wicks.

In fact, she had hardly spoken one word to him by the time they'd reached the Council Room itself. The chamber was underground, and only one small window high upon the wall let sunlight into the cellar-like room. Pillars lined its length, holding up the ceiling, and tall candelabra's stood between.

The maidservant began to place her candles in one of the candle trees, and Merlin moved to the opposite side of the room to place his. They worked in silence, as he had given up on even learning her name, and kept his distance when he finished, unwilling to scare her off.

"Do you have a light?"

She had turned towards him, eyes still glued to the ground and with hands fisted in her skirt. He grinned. "Yes, I do. I'll finish up here."

The girl had curly brown hair, cut sharply at the nape of her neck, and when she gave him a hurried curtsey the curls obscured her entire face. She said something else but it was so jumbled and quiet that he couldn't make it out, then she scurried away.

When he was alone in the room he picked a candle from its stand and hid it against his chest, lit it with a flare of his magic. He paused for a fraction, to make doubly sure he was alone, then held it up to a nearby wick until the second candle caught.

He turned to the next and stumbled back, a rush of heat momentarily blinding him. When he opened his eyes, all the candles had flickered to life. He turned wide eyes to the bald man dressed in the long brown robes who had just entered the room. "I am Bleise," the man said. "Master of histories and prophecies."

"You do realize magic is illegal here, right?" Merlin asked, still surprised by the blatant display.

Bleise just studied him with his small, beady eyes. Merlin squirmed.

Luckily Iseldir made an entrance soon after, and both men went to sit at the long rectangular table stretching the length of the room. Arthur would of course take the head of the table, but another chair had been placed at the opposite end, and Iseldir took that seat. Bleise sat to his right.

"I require your expertise during negotiations," Iseldir explained to Merlin, now that they could speak without sending thoughts. "Will you be able to stay?"

Merlin shrugged. "Usually I just stand in the corner and hold a pitcher." He shuffled around the room until he found an empty jug and held it aloft. Bleise's eyes flashed gold again, and after the murmured spell the jug spontaneously filled with liquid and Merlin had to react quickly to keep it from slipping from his fingers.

He looked nervously at the man but held his tongue this time. Peering into the jug, he confirmed it simple water. Other than himself, he had only seen Nimueh conjure water, and even she had used clouds.

When he glanced up, Bleise was still staring at him. _Creepy_.

Arthur appeared then, Gwen on his arm, and he introduced her to the two druids. Merlin started rattling off his own secondary dialogue. _"Gwen is kind. She will support you."_

A broad-shouldered man strode in next, sword at his hip, and a cocky smile on his face. _"That's Sir Brennis. His father usually sits on the council. Didn't expect to see him."_ He continued as others appeared, always following Arthur's words with his own details. " _Mistress Vanora. She's replacing her dead husband. She's got a big mouth but nothing to back her up."_ Her blue 'peacock' feather poked from a scarf wrapped about her head, and Merlin snorted to himself.

A sturdy man followed her, his unflinching gaze sweeping the room around him. " _Lord Savile, taciturn but stern. He's been around since Uther's day, and Arthur heeds his opinion."_

A waif-like boy stood in the man's shadow. His sallow expression and pale complexion made him look sickly, and the sword at his hip unbalanced him. He clanked and stumbled to the table. _"Officially Arthur has to call him a lord, but he's just the boy Wyndham. His grandmother tells him exactly how to vote before he gets here."_

The last two men entered soon after: the smart yet scatterbrained Master Finch, a master stonemason and head of all artisans for the castle, and Grenfell, a rich money-lender representing the merchant-class.

After everyone had sat, Arthur cleared his throat and introduced the druids. Then he launched into a speech about why Camelot was ready to trust these people again and how extending a hand of friendship would only make Camelot stronger. Merlin tried to subtly lean his hip against a cabinet.

" _The merchant's greed has blinded him,"_ Bleise noted impassively.

"The Druid peoples have very few final products to trade, but they are eager for safe passage to buy goods from your markets," Iseldir spoke softly.

"Is it really safe to have hordes of druids wandering our markets?" Sir Brennis said.

 _"Hordes?"_ Bleise snorted, then said aloud, "We are a peaceful people."

"Your tribe, maybe."

"King Uther kept a druidic registry," Lord Savile said. "Let us restore it with names of men from this tribe. Only those on the list may enter Camelot."

" _Forridel and many others will never agree to that,"_ Iseldir said mentally.

 _"Ask for a letter of passage or an imprint of the king's seal—it's what messengers use,"_ Merlin offered.

"It will be unfeasible to maintain a list between us," Iseldir said calmly. "Perhaps you can provide us with a pendant to show if we are stopped at the border. Only those of our tribe could have it, and it will prevent hordes of my people from entering Camelot." At the word 'horde' Iseldir's lips twitched into a smile.

Is this what it feels like to have someone take your advice? Merlin chuckled to himself.

"I can have my woodworkers make a few originals before you leave," Master Finch offered, then looked to Arthur and Gwen.

"Do it," Arthur said. "Start with a dozen, and let us agree that druidic children will never need them for entrance." He dared the other council members to challenge him, and of course they didn't.

 _"And what happens to the druids who don't have a token? They are turned back into the forests to face brigands?"_ Bleise said to them, obviously unhappy.

 _"I'm sure a few branded pieces of wood will be easy to manufacture on our own,_ " Iseldir replied with a secret smile to them both.

Merlin's ears tinged red on behalf of Camelot.

"There is something else," Arthur began. "I have offered Iseldir a safe place to live within Camelot's borders. He has decided to return to a settlement on our southern border."

"I went with you to destroy that camp," Sir Brennis interjected, but then remembered himself enough to at least grimace at his choice of words.

"Sir Leon will disseminate our intention not to harm them," Arthur said. "Both our citizens and the druidic peoples will treat each other with respect."

"Or else, what?" Mistress Vanora finally spoke, perhaps just wanting to prove she had something to say.

"That's for us to decide," Lord Savile supplied disdainfully.

 _"Normally, we have a citizen's court once or twice a season where disputes can be heard before Arthur or Gwen."_ Merlin explained quickly, _"You have to come earlier and get approved, and then have a scribe—"_

"I believe Arthur should hear the first few cases," Gwen spoke up. "At least until a standard has been set."

A few of the council were obviously uncomfortable with the power of decision taken out of their hands, perhaps even wary that because of Arthur's sudden new outlook, he would side more often with the Druids.

Smartly, Iseldir remained silent.

Merlin just wanted to growl: 'How can you not trust your own king to be fair?'

Because of the extended quiet, the Wyndham boy finally found the space to force his whiny voice on them all. "My grandmother brought up a very interesting fact earlier today. We are offering plenty to the Druids but not getting much in return."

 _"Does he have a point?"_ Bleise snapped.

" _He wants a gift,"_ Merlin explained.

 _"How shallow,"_ Bleise said contemptuously. _"Handing over the Cup of Life was enough._ "

 _"Morgana used the Cup to raise an army of the dead, probably not a good idea to mention it."_

Iseldir offered herbal remedies, but they all thought Gaius was too good at his job for that. Merlin thought that, as physician's assistant, this was the closest he was going to get as a compliment from these people. Grenfell wanted a tariff placed on druidic goods, and Vanora argued for something singular and priceless. Iseldir tried to sell specific goods, prophecies, stories, even Serket antivenom, but none of the options agreed with the entire council. Merlin's mind felt deadened with the constant arguing, and the continued shooting down of whatever increasingly mad idea he came up with.

Eventually Iseldir gave up and leaned back in his chair with a mental sigh. " _Emrys, you must retrieve a cursebreaker."_

Merlin choked. "Retrieve _what_?"

The instant the words left his lips, Merlin knew he had made a mistake. Silence hit the council like a sledgehammer, and Arthur turned to him with one of his infamous faces. Merlin could tell it meant Arthur was too angry to even speak.

"Do you need something, Merlin?" Gwen asked, ever helpful.

"No," Merlin said quickly. "Just having a conversation with myself."

He burned and ducked his head, remembering at the last moment not to act so informally, which would only make the situation worse.

"My lady."

—

Arthur merely pointed at the door, and Merlin knew that was his cue to shuffle out. He took the jug of water with him.

As the wooden door shut behind him, he heard Arthur question, "Do you have a history with my servant?"

 _Oh spirits, were they going to talk about him_? He needed a walk.

There were a lot of questions swimming around in his mind, and he knew that he wasn't going to find the answers on his own. Luckily, he had an all-knowing dragon at his beck and call. If anyone was going to know where to get a cursebreaker, if he should be worried about Bleise, and why Arthur was so mad at him, it would be Kilgharrah.

Merlin took a sip from the jug. Yup, tasted like water too.

Not for the first time, he wished he'd had a chance to study magic with the Druids.

It was later in the day now, and the supper rush was the perfect camouflage as he wandered out of the castle and then Camelot herself. He knew the path to the clearing by heart, and hardly paid attention to his surroundings as he mulled over Destiny's recent puzzle.

He nearly walked into the middle of a patrol.

This shouldn't have surprised him. When were things ever easy?

Merlin plastered himself behind a tree, water splashing at his feet, and peered cautiously around the trunk as Sir Geraint and a group of foot soldiers stomped past. Had the patrols changed? If this were a cyclical route, it would be beyond stupid to wait around in the nearby clearing for Kilgharrah.

Also, calling a dragon without the cover of darkness wouldn't be his brightest moment.

Merlin sighed. He looked into the depths of his only companion, the pitcher, and hoped for answers. He was surprised to find them.

He would go to the water. Freya could not rise to answer him, but talking to her grave usually helped organize his thoughts.

The Lake of Avalon was much farther from Camelot than the clearing, and he would easily be walking into the night. But, now that he'd thought of seeing her, even in this existential way, he could not let the idea go. It wouldn't be the first time he had gone without an evening meal.

—

Merlin had watched the sun set over the tree line before him by the time he made it to the lake's shore. The White Mountains rose majestically above the forest that surrounded him, and the soft waves of the lake lapped at his boots. He curled himself into a sitting position, and spent a few moments listening to the quiet of the forest at night.

"Freya," he started tentatively, his voice sounding strange in the silence. "I've got a lot of questions. I wish you were still here so I could talk to you about them. I miss…" He did miss her, but he had also barely known her. "I miss who I could be with you."

He ran his hand through his always ruffled hair. "My thoughts aren't really in order. This is going to sound a bit crazy, but hear me out." His fingers worked at his scalp as he thought. "Kilgharrah always expected Arthur and I to bring a new, magical age to Albion, but he never said it was an assurance. The Druids always seemed to think it would happen, but I'm starting to think that's just an interpretation Iseldir chose to keep up hope. If Arthur and I are supposed to unite Albion, why is it I'm always siding with magic _or_ with Arthur, never both? Or that whenever I try to defend magic, terrible things happen? Is what everyone's hoping for impossible? What am I doing wrong?"

He rubbed at his face. "Arthur is making peace with the Druids. That's a good thing, isn't it? Why do I have this bad feeling then?"

He collapsed into himself and asked her hollowly. "Is it all in my head? Destiny, fate, prophecies…the only truth they've ever given me was Morgana as my enemy."

The disbelief folded around him, and he kicked himself for letting it. He hated that he would even doubt Arthur, that he would doubt himself, but sometimes it felt like he was fighting a losing battle, that he would struggle for years only to have Mordred slip a blade between Arthur's ribs.

A cool hand wrapped around his arm and he jolted, scrambling back as his magic pushed to the forefront of his mind. But when his eyes flew open, it was Freya who met them.

She was as beautiful as the day she'd died, and she smiled at him as rivulets of water ran down her face and streaked from her hair. She glistened in the moonlight. "Merlin," she whispered.

"You touched me," he replied tremulously.

"I love you," she said. "I missed you."

He moved carefully back towards her and reached tentatively for her shoulder, but his hand passed through. It felt like falling into a pool of cool water, and he pulled back slightly disconcerted.

"Only this," she responded, and kissed the palm of her right hand and pressed it to his cheek.

He threaded his fingers with hers and held her tightly. "I never thought—" he broke off.

"I can help you, my love," she said softly. "I see many things in the water."

She tugged at his hand, and it stretched his arm out as she slipped further into the lake. "The future is a dangerous thing to see," he said carefully as he remained rooted to the shore, yet unwilling to let her go.

"Then I will not show you it," she replied, and forced him to release her as she moved further away. "Come with me for a short while."

He looked at her kind eyes smiling at him from above the surface of the water, her brown hair fanning around her, and knew his mind was already made up.

Steadily he worked the boots from his feet, then removed his jacket and tunic and slowly folded them into a neat square. When he set them aside she was still waiting for him, so he stood and waded into the waters. They were cold, and he felt the need to shiver wind its way up his spine.

When he was waist deep she disappeared, ripples spreading from her last position. Merlin took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and ducked himself after her.

He expected _something_ , but there was nothing.

He opened his eyes and looked at the blue lakebed around him. His raven hair wove before him in the current, and now he did shiver at the chill.

She was no longer here.

So, he stood, and it was day.

In surprise he turned, and on the shoreline was Freya smiling at him in a simple frock, looking clean, and happy, and gesturing for him to come closer so she could wrap him in a blanket.

When he reached her, he ghosted his fingertips over her brow, her cheeks, her chin, and then he knew. She was going to show him what had been a possibility.

How horrible of her, to tell him exactly how much he'd lost.

—

Merlin got to see the hut they'd built with their own hands. He worked in their garden. He lived many happy days with her, and many lovely nights only to watch her turn into the Bastet whenever the moon reached its zenith.

But even here, far away from any hope of a destiny, he was still Emrys. The day he slipped the ring onto her finger, and she felt the curse lift from her shoulders, he realized he would have given up Arthur and Albion a thousand times for the look in her eyes.

There were many nights he held her close and didn't let her go, and Freya would laugh at him. But this Freya did not know this world was not real.

Time, and he could not count how much, passed. He committed to memory every one of her smiles and the bubble of her laugh. He learned to love everything from the worry lines between her brows to the rigid poke of her finger when she was angry. He comforted her when she cried over the people she'd killed.

And then, one day, he returned to their home and she was dead.

In his grief, everything froze around him. Time, which had once ran through his fingers too quickly, now stood still. Even the wind could not stir the dirt where hundreds of bootprints had trampled the ground. Everything else gone—ransacked, and she, there in the dirt—lifeless.

But then a different feeling came over him. One he had not expected to overcome him so strongly.

He knew this had not been bandits, but soldiers. Soldiers meant an army, one kept secret from Camelot, and that meant an enemy was marching on Camelot as he stood here. He would not, _could not_ , let her fall. He would not let Arthur die.

And then he was splayed on the ground, blinking up at the dark sky as the moon came dizzily into focus.

He sat up, and Freya, the lady of the lake, was kneeling between his legs with a smile full of sorrow and apology. "I love you," she whispered.

"Why?" He choked, and she reached for him again.

"I'm sorry," she said desperately. "I needed you to see. There are so many futures open before you."

"I let you die, _again_."

"Merlin, I was happy to have you for the short time I did, didn't you see? You regret so much, but you have not failed me. You have not failed any of us." Her fingers trembled as she stroked his cheek. "You saved me the moment you loved me. You will save Albion for the same reason."

He thought of the driving need he had felt to protect Arthur and Camelot. He had already dedicated his life to that very task, and apparently he always would—to the death of everything he loved. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," he whispered brokenly.

"You have done _nothing wrong_." She placed her palm on his chest, and her hand was cool and wet over his heart. "You have only forgotten to love this man here—the man who is everything to me and more."

Freya pulled his ring from her finger, and placed the swirl of water in his palm. He could feel the liquid damp in the crevices of his hand, and watched, transfixed, as the ring solidified into ice and then the clearest glass.

She folded his fingers closed over it, and leaned forward to press her phantom lips to his forehead. He closed his eyes, and could almost feel her through the memories.

And then, again, she was gone.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) A Reeve was in charge of the workers in a castle. I edited that to include castle upkeep also.  
(2) Nellie, the young girl possessed by the brollachan in Ch.4. Ellen is her mother. I chose that name because I wanted it similar to her daughter's. Her nickname is Ell.  
(3) I haven't named the shy servant girl yet, but one day she just appeared in my mind. She's the Candlemaker's assistant.  
(4) Sir Brennis Pelham, Mistress Vanora Morholt, Lord Savile (Lady Liv's uncle), the boy Wyndham (Dame Osra's grandson), Master Neil Finch, and Grenfell. Welcome to my ridiculous council.  
(5) In the show, I'm pretty sure they intend for the Lake of Avalon and the Isle of the Blessed to be separate places. From pictures, it looks like Kilgharrah's clearing is northwest of the castle, and from the map, there is an unnamed lake directly west of the castle. That is now my Avalon.  
(6) In the original legend, the Lady of the Lake gave the Ring of Dispel to Lancelot.

 **Author's Note:**

So. That happened. Thoughts?

To be honest, I didn't expect the angst. It struck fairly hard last chapter too. I wonder if I should change the story themes?

Let me try and explain my own thoughts. I do believe Merlin has done things wrong, but Freya is biased. I also think the show was wrong for telling us their would be a golden age and then never giving it to us. Merlin is worrying that a canon season five will happen—that depresses me. I largely think canon season five happened because Merlin never stood up for himself or for magic, and just let what happened happen. If he had fought back I think things would have been different. In a weird way, Freya is saying that.

This is not the end of the Druids, but we're going to take a break from them for awhile.

—

To my reviewers: I'm thinking of writing you guys a gift when I hit 5000 chapter views. I'm at 4200 currently, so I expect it'll be in a few weeks. Honestly, you can ask for something super specific or super general, whatever you desire. If it's too far off story-canon I'll just make it a dream sequence or something. I think I'll do little drabbley pieces and somehow link them together in a chapter. If you're interested start dropping ideas in reviews.

Nova: Thank you! Thanks for always reviewing :)  
Mersan123: Glad you liked my sulky Merlin :) Percival saved four children at once during that one battle, I figure he's good with kids, eh? And glad Gwaine was entertaining. He hasn't been serious recently, but I love him too much as my comic.  
Jewelsmg: Forridel did rat him out ;) But I also think Arthur is going to keep the information bottled up until he has proof on the bigger issue, or until he and Merlin have an explosive argument. Consider Arthur just coming back from the trip and saying "X amount of years ago did you save a blonde lady from being captured, breaking the law in the process?!" and Merlin would just say "Uh, yeah, I guess?" Arthur would just embarrass himself. Leon is going to be the hardest sell in the story, but eventually I'll get everyone to like him too! And Percival will have dialogue! You can see I have big dreams.  
StarlightInHerEyes22: No worries, thanks for returning! Glad you're enjoying the Druid arc! They'll return later—they are an important part of this entire year. Really glad you liked Merlin and Leon, they need more scenes. Leon needs more scenes, poor guy. Thank you about Forridel! She's definitely the flap of a butterfly's wings, and months from now she'll cause a storm. Your last sentence had me thinking how else I could show Merlin breaking the law without being caught for magic. I'm still thinking, but the thoughts excite me.

—

 **Next time** : It's Just a Prank, Bro. Merlin deals with the knight's shenanigans as they try to 'civilly' decide who gets to compete in this year's Tournament of Camelot.


	14. Dreamcatcher

— 5000 chapter views celebration! We're going backwards in time.

 **Dreamcatcher**

 _The Kalends of February (Jan 16-30)  
_

Camelot was in shambles.

Even though Morgana's attack alongside the Southron's, and the subsequent battle for the reclamation of the castle, had been well over a week ago there was yet a noticeable pallor over the great city. Citizens that had fled only trickled back through the gates, and those that had returned picked anxiously through the remnants of their already sparse homes.

Gaius was still weak and recovering slowly from the days spent starving in a cell. Elyan's additional days of torture had not left him much better, but his youth and resilience had pushed him into action swifter—or perhaps that had been the return of his sister. Elyan was hard-pressed to leave her side.

Gwen, despite the hardships she had faced alone, had been the only bright spots in Merlin's days. She was a beacon of light and a hope for renewal for a group of men whom had lived in darkness for so long. It explained why Arthur had barely kept his eyes off of her, among other reasons of course.

That was why it was hardly a surprise that when he'd returned from dissipating a third minor trap of Morgana's, stepping into Arthur's chambers in the late evening, it was to the sight of he and Gwen locked in the conversation of old friends—or, rather, reacquainted lovers.

His exhaustion may have shown because Gwen smiled sympathetically, though Arthur's own troubles blinded him to Merlin's. Instead the king looked up and said, "Thanks for bringing supper."

 _Wait, what?_

"Did you just thank me?"

Gwen trilled with laughter and Arthur had the decency to look embarrassed. "I actually have a favor to ask you, so if you could not be like this…"

Even more shocked, Merlin looked to Gwen and said, "What did you do with him?"

Arthur rankled and the usual aggravation returned for his smart-mouthed manservant. "Shut up for a second, will you?"

Gwen frowned, Merlin relaxed—this was more like him—, and Arthur continued. "I'm worried about Gwaine."

"You are having all the feels today."

"I haven't seen him in two days." With the mess Camelot had been, that was no surprise. Though Merlin hadn't seen him either. "You two have always been good friends…"

Honestly, Merlin felt guilty that it had gotten to the point where even Arthur had noticed. "I'll find him."

"Thank you, Merlin," Gwen said warmly. Then her eyes softened in apology and she continued. "We'll talk soon; things have been hectic."

Of course things had been hectic. He also knew they wouldn't talk soon. Things were going to be different now, with Gwen. She would be queen before the seasons changed.

—

By the time Merlin located the correct tavern—The Rising Sun, no surprise there—, he was met with a thoroughly incapacitated Gwaine. The knight twisted a pitcher idly in his right hand, apparently fascinated at the dim light refracting through it. Its emptiness belied the backache Merlin would surely gain from hefting Gwaine all throughout the darkened streets of Camelot.

He dropped into a stool at Gwaine's side and slipped the pitcher from his hand. "Wha- I was…I was drinkin' tha'," the knight slurred from the bartop.

"Believe me, Gwaine, that fact is not in dispute."

With a great effort, Gwaine heaved himself into a fully upright position. When his bleary eyes focused on the man before him he grinned and shouted, "Ah, it is my friend Merlin!" Sloppily he patted the stool on his other side, unaware Merlin had already sat. "Have a seat, mate, and another roun', barkeep!"

Merlin shook his head vehemently, but Joel only smiled and plucked the copper from Gwaine's outstretched fingers.

"What are you doing here, Gwaine?"

"Drinkin'."

Joel placed another pitcher before the two men and slid a grimy mug across the slick counter to Merlin. Gwaine reached for the alcohol, but his arm wavered in mid-air and Merlin was able to keep it away from him without much effort. "Alright, let's drink."

He poured until his mug was near to overflowing, then turned and put a splash in Gwaine's cup to occupy the knight. He made sure to keep the rest of the pitcher far away.

Gwaine said, "What brings you to my humble abode?"

"I never got to celebrate our victory," he replied without much emotion. "It hasn't really hit me yet. I keep expecting Morgana to reappear as fast as she disappeared."

Gwaine stared into the amber liquid before him. "Morgana." He said nothing else, lost in his own meandering thoughts.

Merlin chose not to push him. He wasn't really here for information. He did wonder why one of his greatest friends felt the need to drink himself into a stupor, but he was more concerned about making him feel better.

He did not know what constituted the 'usual' crowd in the Rising Sun, but the other late night members of the tavern seemed to be it. For whatever reasons they had come, they all had the look in same look in their eyes. They would be here in this dimly lit room with alcohol and strangers for company until morning brought them back to reality.

Merlin nursed his beer while he studied his friend. Gwaine's hair had been cut since he last saw him—likely whatever tangles he'd obtained while imprisoned hadn't been worth combing out. He wore his old traveling clothes and so Merlin was unsure if he could attribute the stains to recent activities or the long-gone past.

"I killed Agravaine."

He wasn't sure what made him say it, maybe he even thought Gwaine was too far gone to fully comprehend, but his friend noticed the serious tone and made a herculean effort to turn his focus to him. "How?"

He evaded the question by instead answering 'when'. "He was chasing us through a cave system, and I stayed back to get rid of him."

Gwaine was quiet, slowly processing, and then he said, "Good," in a rare embittered moment.

"I don't know what Arthur thinks happened, but just don't tell him."

The knight turned back forward and began to trace a circle of condensation on the bartop. He had yet to drink from his newly replenished cup but holding it seemed to give him some comfort. "If you say so," he said gruffly. "The traitor deserved it."

"Yeah, he did." He didn't know how to explain what it felt like to kill someone who had no hope of defending themselves.

"You should be proud." Gwaine scowled at wood of the counter as if it had been the traitor himself. "At least you did something to help defend Camelot."

"Unlike you?" Merlin snorted, "That's why you're here? Because you think you _didn't_ save Gaius' life? Gwaine—" he sighed, ran a hand through his already wild hair, " _thank you_. I'm sure Morgana hates Gaius for keeping her magic secret from her for so many years. I didn't dare hope that…" he had to clear his throat, covered the lump forming with a large gulp from his mug, "…that he would be alive when I returned."

The troubled lines around Gwaine's eyes loosened slightly, and he bumped his shoulder against Merlin's with a hint of his old humor. "You're the first real friend I ever had." It didn't make much sense as a response, but it felt good to say, and good to hear, and that was enough.

A sly smirk grew on Merlin's face. "On my part, I think Lancelot still has you beat by a smidgen."

"Don't laugh at me,"

"I could not, my liege. Peasants do not have a sense of humor."

"Now I _know_ you're poking fun." Gwaine ruffled his shorter hair but finally cracked a smile. He threw back the lukewarm beer with all the grace of a shot of liquor. "It's late, eh?"

"Yeah, let's go back to the castle."

They left the Rising Sun with much of the pitcher still intact and gifted to a lucky patron. It wasn't an extremely far walk up the hill to the castle, but the emptiness of the wide streets and the darkness overhead expanded the seconds until it felt like one of Merlin's bubbles of time had wrapped around them.

They were passing into the upper town when Gwaine finally voiced his thoughts. They matched well with the stark scenery, and he said them with a dichotomous layer of guilt and regret—guilt for allowing himself to be trapped in a hopeless situation, and regret for feeling guilty about it. "I was useless. I fought for her entertainment, and I would win, but even then I was powerless. There was nothing I could do to stop her. We were completely at her mercy."

"I know the feeling." Gwaine looked at him sharply and Merlin put a hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. "She kidnapped me awhile back."

"Fie, Merlin."

"Don't tell Arthur about that either."

This inexplicably sent Gwaine into hysterics, and Merlin tried to shush him before they woke half the noble families on the street. Eventually his chuckles were muffled behind his fist, and Merlin got to the point he'd been aiming for. "She hasn't won yet despite what she can and has done to us. That counts for something, right?"

"That it does." Gwaine swung a still slightly inebriated arm about his shoulders, smiling broadly now. "When are you going to tell me all your stories, mate?"

"Later," he replied simply. "One day, I'll tell you everything."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) I shoved the Series 4 finale backwards in time from canon. In my story, Morgana took over the castle on Jan 1st.

 **Author's Note:** This drabble chapter was inspired by StarlightInHerEyes22 (thank you for your request!), my wonderful reviewers and followers who got me to the happy 5000 chapter views, and the song Immortals by Fall Out Boy. Thank you, all! I was really surprised to hit 5000 chapter views this week. I truly thought it would be a few weeks from now.

I do have official songs for this story, but Immortals isn't one of them. It's an unofficial song I guess.

I got A LOT of enjoyment out of writing this aside. It was the perfect break I needed from the plot. It just flowed out of my fingers as if I'd always known I'd write it. It isn't perfect, but that's okay. Gwaine deserved some serious moments, because in the story currently he's been my comic relief.

Next chapter is halfway done, so should be updated soon!

To my reviewers: If anyone has requests for the next milestone, drop them in a review! I'll post Dreamscape at the 10,000 views mark. Also, thank you to my 'guest' reviewer :)  
Nova: Love that you enjoyed the title. Thank you!  
Jewelsmg: I'm really glad you enjoyed the Freya part! I think Merlin will always love her, no matter where I may or may not go with other romances. I love Merlin's little pranks on Arthur hehe. I think there is a little flame haha (great pun), at the very least she is crushing hard. I love that you don't like Bleise. I definitely want him to be a hard character to love, and in ways a hard character to hate. So, yeah, you made me really happy for not being a fan. Means I'm doing things right.  
Linorien: Really glad you enjoyed Merlin interacting with the Druids! I was worried it was too cluttered with all the people. :/ I made a note to have another silent conversation whenever we see the Druids again, just for you. You requesting that actually helped me figure out a future plot-point.  
Mersan123: I'm glad your taking Freya with a grain of salt. I think he is still confused. It's definitely a theme until at least the mid-season finale, maybe all year. This comment in particular didn't fuel Arthur's suspicions, so hopefully that makes you feel better. Arthur will just assume Merlin was thinking about servant duties and having a mini-argument with a figment of his imagination. He's just mad Merlin was an idiot during his peace-talks, but I think Arthur is pretty forgiving for minor transgressions like this.  
StarlightInHerEyes22: Oh my goodness wow, what praise. That makes my week, honestly. Really glad you liked the Freylin; I think Merlin will always love her most. Merlin's particular slip last chapter isn't going to play out, sorry! I got everyone's hopes up :/ I mean, Arthur wouldn't assume Merlin was telepathically communicating with the Druids, right? There are other things Arthur is getting suspicious of though, all is not lost. Also, thank you for the request! Without you, this drabble chapter would not exist.  
Samiri: Thank you! Plus, never apologize for long reviews, I live for them. Love that you love my absolute madness with the research I'm doing. You guys don't even know the half of it, it's quite embarrassing really. Did you know I have a map of Camelot itself drawn out? Because I do. With houses and everything. Sigh. This is my season 5 for myself as well, I am with you that I pretend Season 5 would have happened completely differently if they had been picked up for longer. Merlin will definitely not forget the Leshy, he's very important. Glad you liked the chapter as well, writing the suspicion's building up is great fun. Merlin is going to change in this story, and Freya is one step on the way, really glad you noticed.


	15. It's Just a Prank, Bro

—

 **It's Just a Prank, Bro**

 _The Nones of June (June 1-7)_

Elyan lay on his back in his cot, looking up at the thatched roof of his father's house. There was a growing hole he had to fix before the next rain.

He peeled the blanket from his body and shivered as the cold of the morning swept over him, and he padded on bare feet to stoke the coals. From the window, he could see the sun already rising over the other houses in the lower town, and he began to worry about being late.

A few minutes here or there would never count against him, not when he'd stood with the other knights against undead armies and been tortured by Morgana only a few months ago, but Elyan couldn't get it out of his mind that they would look down on a lackadaisical attitude. He wasn't the strongest like Percival, or the best swordsman like Gwaine, or the captain like Leon. He was just Gwen's brother, and he had a long way to fall.

Alone, he ate and buckled himself into his chainmail before taking up his blunted sword and walking towards the training fields. Leon was already there handing out instructions to a handful of guards. They left as he approached.

Leon smiled warmly. "How was your patrol?"

After the Council had agreed to allow the Druids to move onto Camelot land, and live and trade in peace, Arthur had temporarily expanded their routes to include the new campgrounds. "No one came by to harass them. I didn't even run into bandits." Though few Druids had even moved yet. Mostly, it was just a handful of men working on clearing the area.

Percival and Gwaine joined them then, the latter chomping on a roll he'd likely snagged from the kitchens. "Morning, ladies."

"Ah, there's Arthur," Leon said, as their king walked towards them. Arthur wasn't outfitted in his usual training attire, though, and the captain's eyebrow inched upwards.

"I won't be joining you today," Arthur said the moment he joined their circle.

" _Really_?" Gwaine drawled sarcastically, as he picked at Arthur's doublet. The king glared and smacked his hand away.

"Is it something we can help with?" Percival asked.

"A few people are not playing well with the news about the druids. Gwen says I have to go talk to them and smile."

Elyan chuckled, knowing how his sister could be when she got an idea in her head.

"So I have a different plan for you all." At their curious glances, Arthur smirked. "The Tournament of Camelot is coming up. I haven't named a champion yet."

"You aren't competing?" Leon asked in surprise.

"I figure it's time to give someone else a chance," Arthur replied haughtily.

Elyan had a feeling Gwen had been against him fighting pointlessly in the rink, and Gwaine caught his eye, obviously thinking the same thing. Luckily, before the rogue could say something that would have Arthur making them run drills, their king caught sight of Merlin's bright tunic as he wandered into the castle. He hollered at him.

Merlin looked about him in surprise, and then loped over to join the others on the grass. Hanging at his side, a bouquet of lilac flowers was held loosely in his fist.

"Who are those for?" Arthur asked teasingly.

Merlin blinked, and then grinned. "They're for you, sire."

"From?"

"From me." The full-fledged smile inching its way across Merlin's face did not bode well.

Arthur looked skeptical. "This love you have for me, Merlin, is unhealthy. I assure you, it is not reciprocated."

"That's not what you said last night."

The knights _exploded_. Arthur turned a brilliant shade of red, and Merlin patted him on the shoulder before turning back to his wandering, this time whistling a made up tune.

—

Merlin dunked the wire brush into its soap bucket and leaned back on his ankles. "Whew!" He said aloud and wiped a hand across his brow. The floors of the ruler's chambers were much larger than Arthur's old rooms, and he wondered how many times he'd scrub these floors before being tempted by magic.

He wiggled his neckerchief from where it hung at his collarbone until it cinched over his forehead, and then grabbed the wire brush again.

Iseldir and Bleise had been shocked, to say the least, that he had found such a powerful cursebreaker on short notice, and one that they had never heard of. In fact, Merlin had shown up the next morning carrying Freya's intricate ring, only to find the duo had been up all night wracking their brains to draw him a map to a second. He had been tempted—

Merlin found himself lagging again, and shook his mind free of the thoughts. He'd gotten better these past two weeks at not dwelling on his memories of Freya, but sometimes he couldn't help it.

He attacked the flagstone with new vigor, and to that scene Gwaine swaggered in. "What did the floor do to you?"

"Hasn't given me a break all morning, for one." Gwaine plopped onto the royal's table, and then began poking around in the fruit bowl. "How was training?"

"Arthur decided his old bones can't handle the Tournament of Camelot anymore."

"Maybe I'll finally get to watch the tournament like a normal person," Merlin muttered. Gwaine didn't hear him, too preoccupied with biting into a pear. "So Leon is our champion?"

"Leon says he doesn't care about the glory, he didn't become a knight for that." Gwaine brushed his hair to the side and continued. "It's between Elyan, Percival and I." The knight leapt up from the table and paced toward Merlin. When his friend didn't look up, he crouched down and poked Merlin in the shoulder. "Who were the flowers for?"

"Gwen," Merlin responded shortly, before moving the bucket to the side and working on a new stone. "It's nearing the anniversary of her father's death. I just wanted to brighten up the room."

"Now I almost feel guilty for what I'm about to ask you."

Merlin tossed the brush into the bucket and raised a brow.

"We each picked a challenge most befitting of a knight. Best two out of three wins."

"Alright, what do I have to do?"

"Get Gwen to kiss me first."

Merlin threw his hands into the air. "What kind of challenge is that?"

"A lady's favor is integral to being a knight."

"Elyan's her brother!"

"That's why I need your help."

Merlin shook his head in exasperation. "I do have an actual job you know."

—

It was a bright day in Camelot, and that meant a hot one for anyone forced to wear more than a single layer of clothing. They found Guinevere fanning herself on the battlements. "A queen can start her own fashion trends, can't she?"

Gwaine swooped in before Merlin could respond. "Ah, my lady Guinevere, the one that got away."

He grabbed her hand swiftly and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She smacked him on the head with her fan.

"That hurt," he said and smiled charmingly. "A kiss to make it better?" She smacked him on the chest this time.

"You are incorrigible." Gwen slipped the fan back into her sleeve, and swept away from him.

"At the very least, I'm emotionally wounded." Gwaine dropped an arm across her shoulder, and Gwen jumped. "Tell her, Merlin."

"As physician's assistant, I have to say a kiss from a lady can cure all ills." At Gwen's incredulous look, Merlin could only shrug helplessly.

"Well, Sir Gwaine, before we become the talk of the lower town," Gwen looked pointedly over the edge of the battlements, "I suppose I should mention Leon explained everything to me, and I think the three of you should truly be ashamed of yourselves."

"It was Elyan's idea," Gwaine countered. "A kiss on my cheek would be the perfect revenge."

"I gave him a good smack actually." This time she really did walk away from them both, carefully lifting her skirts over the short lawn at their feet. She paused to glance over her shoulder with an amused smile. "Then I gave him the kiss he asked for."

"I told you she'd favor her brother, you dolt," Merlin laughed.

"That's nepotism!" Gwaine shouted, "You think you can get away with this?" Merlin followed Gwaine's shaking fist to a turret, where Elyan's dark face could clearly be seen smirking at them both. He waved an arm from which Gwen's handkerchief dangled obviously.

At the taunt, Gwaine gave a shout and dashed for the turret, shouting retribution.

—

Arthur's stallion butted him in the chest as Merlin led it back into its stall. Its big eyes studied him, and then the horse tossed its head again with a snort.

"You don't want to go back in?" Merlin asked, and smoothed his hand along the brown horses' neck. "Or you want to say hello to Gwen's young mare?" The horse whinnied and Merlin laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "We have to get you looking more handsome then."

The stablehands did most of the work caring for the royal horses, like the daily mucking, feeding, watering, and brushing, but, in Merlin's opinion, Arthur had yet to understand this. The king would occasionally get it in his mind that Merlin _had_ to go down and check on them.

This usually entailed a bit of unplanned freedom for the horses, and an extra salt treat. Merlin pulled one from his pocket as he closed the stall's door behind them, and the stallion licked at it gleefully.

He had just taken him out to the arena's grounds and let the horse explore the dirt field. The stallion had an aversion to being penned in that Merlin understood. "Keep that up, and you'll be as fat as your king," he chuckled as the horse sniffed his hands and pockets for further bonuses. "Come on now, give me your hoof. You don't want the thrush do you?"

The powerful brown stallion cocked its head to the side and bent its front leg.

"Good boy."

Merlin captured the hoof between his knees and pulled from his pocket the pick he'd grabbed on his way into the stable. Rolling up his sleeves, he began digging the dirt and mud from the crevices in the stallion's shoe.

Arthur's steed hung his head and let the breath flutter through his nostrils, releasing a deep sigh. From the next stall over, Gwen's mare answered with a soft nickering, and Merlin smiled. _New love—_

He gasped, strangled, and dropped the pick into the loose straw below. _Get a hold of yourself_ , he thought, but his heart had dropped into his stomach and _oh gods she's dead—_

"Merlin, are you in here?"

He sucked in a breath and pressed a hand to the wooden wall, then slammed a lid down on the tumult of his emotions so viciously he nearly flinched. "I'm here."

It was Elyan, and the knight poked his head over the stall only to have Arthur's stallion take a bite for his nose.

"Did Gwaine catch you?" Merlin asked, back still turned, and started to stir the straw at his feet while he looked for the pick.

"I yet know a few secret places in the castle that he doesn't." Elyan reached a tentative hand for the stallion, but the horse had calmed now. "I came to ask a favor."

Merlin sighed and let Arthur's horse back onto all four feet. "Who do you have to get to kiss you now?"

"Nothing like that!" Elyan said quickly, and then scowled. "Was _that_ Gwaine's plan for my sister?"

Merlin waved the thought away, "What did you need? I live to serve."

Elyan frowned at Merlin's strangely impassive face, but chuckled awkwardly after putting the blame on himself. "I hoped you would officiate the next challenge."

"That doesn't sound like it will get me in nearly as much trouble as the first," Merlin shrugged. "What am I officiating?"

"A small joust."

At first, Merlin had thought the worst, and had started to run through what he should grab from Gaius' chambers before meeting the knight's at the pitch. However, Elyan explained the knights wouldn't be aiming at each other, but instead at the training hoops that hung from the tall wooden stands.

Merlin had to go get them to avoid, what Elyan called, Gwaine's insatiable need to cheat. And after he'd finished his tasks in the stables, he'd arrived at the arena to find all three knights already astride their horses and well into a reeking heap of trash-talk.

"Good luck seeing over that giant schnozzle—"

"Is that padding in your saddle? It must be a sad life being that self-conscious about your height—"

Merlin just shook his head and started to grind the first stake into the middle of the field. He'd set the hoops at various heights, and attached all of them to their quick-release ropes beforehand, so now he just put all three of his stakes a little distance apart, and then smiled at his handiwork.

Gwaine and his horse cantered in a circle around Merlin, and then wove through the poles. "Aren't we supposed to do one at a time?"

"You all could do that with a hand tied behind your back," Merlin scoffed. "I changed the challenge. You only get one run, and you have to hoop all three."

The rogue smiled wolfishly, excited for the challenge, and rode off for the other end of the arena. "Scared, Elyan?" He called. "Your sister isn't here to save you now!"

Elyan scowled and galloped to the opposite end. "Watch and learn pretty-boy."

Both knights stared each other down while crowing a few other smart remarks at each other. Percival tossed a lance to Gwaine, and Merlin hefted another into Elyan's hand. Neither gave much heed to their original requirement for supervision, and instead the moment the wood touched Elyan's palm, they took off in a flying gallop.

The lances tucked expertly into their sides and each knight kicked up a cloud of dirt as they crossed the distance to the center of the arena. Percival whooped in support, and both men snared the first target without blinking. A breath away was the second, and they each tilted in their saddles for the new angle—lances level, hooves thundering—and twisted at the last moment.

Gwaine tossed a handful of sand towards Elyan's face, and Elyan screwed his eyes shut and swerved away. He gave a shout of victory only to then realize Elyan had also thrown a cube of sugar, which Gwaine's horse skidded to a halt to retrieve.

When the dust settled, Elyan was fifteen feet away rubbing at his eyes and spitting profanities, while Gwaine had tangled in his harness and hung discombobulated from his happy steed's neck.

Needless to say, Percival won the second challenge.

—

Merlin intentionally made a point these days to not spend all his daylight hours looking after Arthur. He still had the halfpenny in his boot after all, and Arthur's clothes could wait an extra day before being laundered.

Instead, he put himself to work in the physic garden, where he had planted Gaius' herbs as well as a few other fruits and vegetables Merlin couldn't help but cultivate.

He had just finished cleaning the ground around the young turnips, and now focused his hands on the much taller blackcurrant bush. As a child he and Will had wandered the forests during the summer, eating the sweet, earthy berries straight from the leaves. Sometimes he'd fill a large bottle, and his mother would make a thick jam.

After his first year in Camelot, when he had truly internalized that this was his true home come what may, he had decided to grow a piece of his old one here. The bush was nearly four feet tall now, and its branches wormed straight for the sky. He had done a better job with pruning last winter, and no low hanging or thin branches hung heavy with fruit and had collapsed in the dirt.

His hands wormed through the bush, checking for rot or bugs, but his berries were healthy and thriving. The clusters nearer the top had already ripened with the sun, and he popped a blackcurrant into his mouth as he picked off a few dried leaves.

He heard the tread of a man approaching, and he called out—knowing already it was another knight come to bother him. "I'm bad luck."

"Why do you say that, Merlin?" _Whoops, it was Gaius._

"Not important," he replied with a smile. "Need anything?"

"A few stems of lemon balm, if you are willing."

Merlin stepped carefully over to the small green herb while Gaius seated himself with a grateful sigh at the nearby bench.

"Percival stopped by looking for you."

 _Hah, I knew it!_ "Did he explain himself?" He picked at the larger leaves while snapping off a handful of the older stalks.

"Should I?"

Merlin jumped and stumbled, nearly landing face-first in the dirt as he held aloft the delicate leaves. Luckily, Percival was his usual heroic self and caught the back of Merlin's tunic in a fist. "And what do _you_ want?" Merlin asked haughtily, yet dangling like a child.

"Help distracting Gwaine."

"A buxom lass should do the trick."

"Well, I don't have one of those handy," he shook Merlin slightly in jest, and the servant subsequently tugged his tunic free and brushed himself off. Then he turned with a coy smile and fluttered his eyelids.

"I don't believe Sir Gwaine is quite my type," he said in a high falsetto, then strode for Gaius, depositing the herbs in the physician's lap and snagging the water skin from his hip to take a long draught. Gaius smacked him in the thigh. "It's hot out here," he grinned as way of explanation.

Percival had just chuckled and then politely asked Gaius if he could borrow Merlin. Of course, no one denied him while he was being so respectful, and thus Merlin found himself once again roped into the knights' shenanigans.

This time, Percival explained as they slunk through the corridors. "We picked this third challenge because Leon is constantly insisting a good knight always has a better defense than an offense."

He poked his head around a corner before swiveling back and holding a finger to his lips. Both men stilled, backs pressed against the stone wall. An elder servant walked by them with a brow raised, but said nothing.

Percival gestured to the hallway beyond, and Merlin listened carefully until he heard Gwaine's voice above the normal bustle. "Do I get to hear the plan? Or am I to wing it?"

"Just get him so his back is towards me," Percival whispered, still smiling.

Merlin shrugged, deciding that whatever played out wasn't his doing. He stepped casually around the corner and smiled brightly as Gwaine noticed him. He then made sure to walk all the way to the opposite side of his friend, so Gwaine had to turn to look at him. "This is Drystan," Gwaine introduced the freckled youth he had formerly been animatedly chatting with, "he just made footsoldier in Sir Brennis' squad, poor guy." Gwaine swung his hair from his face, "This is Merlin. You've seen him around, I'm sure."

Drystan nodded, his helmet so large for his head it nearly covered his eyes.

"I was just explaining how he should challenge Sir Brennis to an arm-wrestling match to get on his good side."

"What do you know about that?" Merlin snorted. "You never climbed the ranks in Camelot."

"Doesn't mean I'm not friends with dear Brennis," Gwaine grinned, and then narrowed his eyes. "Why did you walk around me?"

"Eh?" Merlin said, and unfortunately that was all he had time to say before Gwaine's forehead thrust towards him and smacked him with a painful _thunk_ on the bridge of his nose. " _Ugh!_ " he yelped, his hands immediately going up to hold his face.

Gwaine, however, was unapologetic. Instead, he was in full on beast mode, and swung himself around with a flying kick that hit Percival solidly in the chest. The large knight tumbled onto the ground. "Et tu, Percival?"

The other knight sat up, and glanced at his elbow which had taken the brunt of the fall. The skid rash had broken the skin in a few places, and dots of blood began to bead up. "Looks like you won this one."

"First blood," Gwaine curled his fingers into a victorious fist, "is mine."

"That's what this was about?" Merlin exploded. "You're all crazy! Why don't you just fight it out with swords like normal meat-heads?"

"We do need a tie-breaker now," Percival said, getting to his feet.

Gwaine reached back and grabbed Merlin by the bicep. "You have to be the witness."

"Let's find Elyan," Percival replied and grabbed Merlin's other arm.

Both men started to drag him back down the corridor despite his spluttering protests, and when they rounded the corner his faint shout wafted back to the stunned Drystan. "Don't trust anything he told you!"

—

Back where it had all begun—the training pitch. Merlin had plopped himself into his usual spot on the wooden fence, and he had his neckerchief pressed to his nose to staunch the bleeding. He glared invisible daggers at Gwaine who hardly noticed. _I'll get you for this,_ he thought and found himself suddenly full of evil plans, _I liked this scarf._

Gwaine himself was wholly preoccupied making a show of testing the assortment of training swords he'd grabbed from the armory. Percival had chosen a simple longsword, and it stretched nearly a foot longer than the usual weaponry used by a knight. Though a longsword was a two-handed blade, all in attendance knew Percival was capable of a surprise, and deadly, one-handed swing when the situation called for it.

Elyan had not been difficult to find, and he currently was inspecting the balance of his usual blunted sword that he had grabbed from his hut.

"How come you haven't made me a special training sword yet?" Gwaine asked of the blacksmith's son.

"You going to pay for it?" Elyan replied impudently.

"You would make a friend pay?"

Elyan rolled his eyes and performed a few experimental slashes. "Are you trying to butter me up so I'll go easy on you?"

Gwaine balked. " _You_ go easy on _me_?" He looked about at an invisible crowd, as if they should be just as surprised at Elyan's words as he, then he slipped an arm behind his back and raised an eyebrow in the classic provocation _come at me._

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Elyan said testily, "that dirty trick of yours won't work twice."

Gwaine grinned and wiggled his sword in challenge. "You expect all your enemies to follow the rules just for sentiment's sake?"

"I expect the honor-bound ones at the tournament too."

He snorted. "Tell that to 'Sirs' Dagr and Ebor."

"Are you all going to decide this anytime today?" Merlin called from the sidelines. "Bleeding over here!"

The trio laughed, and Percival nudged his two warring friends apart. He retreated to his own corner of the pitch, and the knights quickly formed a triangle, swords at the ready to react to an attack from either side. Their breathing slowed, and their grins became a permanent etching on their face. They were ready, and they were _alive_.

The sun had already begun to set on the far side of the castle, and the turrets cast their long shadow over them all in the yellowing light. Except for the four men, the training field was wide, and empty, and green with summer grass.

Then something triggered them—a flinch or a held breath—and the battle bloomed.

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Tournament of Camelot apparently happens every year, and any noble house can have a champion. Leon could technically compete for his own house, but he chooses not to.  
(2) Tom, Gwen's father, was accused of sorcery and killed. It is also the first time Morgana tried to kill Uther. Merlin would certainly never forget the day.  
(3) There is a scene where Arthur and Merlin are on the battlements overlooking Gwen in the lower town. There is an entire lawn up there—a big open space. There are a few pictures if you search "Camelot" on the Merlin wiki.  
(4) Thrush is a hoof fungus. Horses' hooves should be cleaned after they're ridden, and at least once a week if it's good weather and they are more sedentary.  
(5) Everyone congratulate our new random character Drystan who just got promoted from guard to footsoldier! :fireworks:  
(6) Would Gwaine know the phrase 'Et tu, Brute?' ? Maybe not. But he was born into nobility so...  
(7) Dagr and Ebor were assassins who snuck themselves into a melee by pretending to be knights. Gwaine and Arthur fought them.

 **Author's Note:**

I think Merlin is very good at hiding his emotions and getting over things quickly. However, I think he's entitled to a few minor breakdowns after having lost the love of his life for a second time. In a strange way, he is a widower. I also feel like I have to say that Merlin does consider the knights his friends. He doesn't resent them nor is he massively depressed. If he was snarky this chapter, he is just being his normal self around them.

Elyan…it feels like I _met_ him. I feel like suddenly I know him so well, and now he wants to write himself into everything. I'm glad because, at first, I didn't know what to do with him and he was barely in any scenes.

Who do you all want the Pendragon champion to be?

—

To my reviewers: I was out of town half of this week and really had no time to write. I'm happy I had that 5000 view chapter to upload just to prevent everyone from thinking I'd keeled over!  
Mersan123: You're right that Merlin doesn't really have someone to give him that boost, but I also think talking to his friends and being with them makes him feel better. Yeah, he can't tell them the whole truth, but they still support him. Merlin does consider Gwaine a good friend, and certainly considers Arthur his good friend. I hope I'm not making it seem too much like Merlin is unhappy. I mean, yes, he's not as happy as he could be, but that will change. And in that last chapter, I feel like it was Merlin being the snarky one at first, Arthur was trying to be nice, even if he was his usual oblivious self. Anyway, I hope you are feeling better. If there is anything I can write for you to brighten your day, just tell me.  
Linorien: Thank you! Yes, it was very helpful. I had a good time writing these pranks between the knights as well; I love their friendship.  
StarlightInHerEyes22: Really glad you loved it; you were the inspiration after all. I enjoy writing the hints, I just hope that the long-con I'm pulling with this story doesn't make you guys feel like you're waiting too long to see the results of those hints. I do love that grey area of Merlin's character as well. I haven't had him spying on anyone in a while, and that is what he spends half the seasons doing! Got to get a spying scene in. Also, a prison break sounds fun. Hm. I won't force it, but if something happens where it fits in, I'll be only too happy to write it.  
Nova: Thank you, as always! I love the little behind-the-scenes things.  
Jewelsmg: Yes, I'm glad you agree. Gwaine does have a serious side that I love, and I just have not had the opportunity to write it. I do plan on getting into all of that next 'year' in the story, but in the meantime it's too hard to not use him for a quick joke. He was fun to write this chapter.

—

 **Next time** : Aisle Four—Hoops, Tightropes, Flying Carpets. The tournament is around the corner, and for the entertainment Arthur invites an Arabian carnival troupe into Camelot. Unfortunately, it's not the only thing he invites into the walls.


	16. Aisle Four: Hoops, Tightropes, Flying Ca

—

 **Aisle Four: Hoops, Tightropes, Flying Carpets**

 _The Ides of June (June 8-15)_

Merlin elbowed open the royal chambers, balancing a platter of food on either arm while his tongue stuck out in concentration.

"Should I be worried?" Arthur called dryly from the bed as he watched Merlin's careful walk to the central table.

"I'm not as clumsy as you think," Merlin snorted. He deposited both plates with a flourish, and then swept into a low bow. "Sire. Siress."

Arthur rolled his eyes as Merlin made up a word _yet again_ , but Gwen only laughed. "Will you pass me my wrap, Merlin?"

The garment was folded neatly by a window, and Merlin handed it to her before fetching a pair of slippers. Gwen enfolded herself in the fabric to keep out the ever-present morning chill and slid her feet into the shoes.

"Thank you, Merlin," she smiled warmly.

Merlin responded with his own wide smile as the queen ventured towards the Solar to become more properly dressed.

"You're never that nice to me," Arthur said loudly. Merlin swung back around to see Arthur smirking at him, now standing shirtless by the table. "Are you flirting with my wife?"

"That ship has sailed," Merlin said cheekily. "I chose not to board."

Arthur scoffed. "As if you had a chance." He plopped himself into the chair at the table and dug into the meat portion of the breakfast. After a pause, he reached forward, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, and threw it at Merlin's head.

He caught it with a yelp. "Are you fattening me up for the slaughter?" Arthur ignored him and shoveled more food into his mouth. "Are we late for something?" Merlin asked, quirking a brow.

"Amata's carnival troupe is stopping by Camelot today."

"We're going to watch a show?" Merlin said gleefully.

"You are such a _girl!_ " Arthur chortled. "No, I need entertainers for the feast on Midsummer's Eve. I hope to convince them to stay the week."

He stood from the table and put his weight against the bedpost as he tied on his boots. His morning roll lay untouched on his plate, and Merlin gestured to it. "You going to eat that?"

"I can tell you dropped it," Arthur said disdainfully.

"Your loss," Merlin replied brightly. He put the apple in his pocket and bit into the buttery bread, his mind humming at the decadence.

"Are you going to fetch me a tunic, or would you like to take a nap on my bed as well?"

"Gwen's up there," Merlin remarked. "And a nap sounds nice, thanks, sire."

Arthur strode past, whacking him on the head for good measure. His voice faded as he stomped up the stairs. "Find a dresser for the lower room, and put some of my daily clothes in it."

Merlin just shrugged—he'd just float down a dresser from the Solar when no one was around—and walked over to the balcony that looked down on the training green and the rest of Camelot proper, hoping to catch sight of the troupe.

This roll was delicious—he should drop Arthur's food more often.

A bit later Arthur came down the stairs, now fully-dressed with his normal prattish smile on his face. "Merlin, you will also need to wash the sheets."

"But I washed the linens yesterday."

Merlin's blue eyes went from Arthur's smirk to the bed, and back. The gears aligned in his mind, and he released the rest of his roll so it fell from the balcony. "Ugh. If you were a real friend, Arthur, you'd have sex on the floor."

The king just laughed meanly and clapped a hand on his servant's shoulder, steering them both out of the door and into the throne room. "A third thing, Merlin—"

"There's _more_?" Merlin drawled.

"I've offered your services to the Reeve in preparation for the feast. You're to report after supper."

Merlin groaned. Hook was a crotchety old man, and his nitpicking was almost as bad as George. Arthur better prepare himself for magically-shrunken tunics this week. If Merlin did his job right, Arthur would be so self-conscious by the feast that he'd only pick at his food.

"There they are," Arthur said, pulling Merlin from his thoughts of revenge. At the gates of Camelot, a caravan had arrived and large tents were already in the process of being erected in the plaza. The guards looked unsure as they watched the group halt the usual flow of traffic, but they relaxed when they saw Arthur approaching.

A brown-skinned man, perhaps only a year or so older than Arthur and he, was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he assisted in the construction. Arthur called to him.

"Are you the master of this troupe?"

The man's smile was large and white, and it gleamed at both king and servant when he faced them. "I am just a juggler," he said with a slight accent. "You are looking for Lalla Sheba."

"I am Arthur, the king of Camelot," he introduced himself. "Would you point me towards the Lady Lalla?"

The man laughed openly, and when he did, his eyes closed in mirth. "Not Lady Lalla," he corrected. "Lady Sheba."

He pointed at a purple tent on the edge of the caravan, and Arthur nodded appreciatively. He clapped a hand roughly on Merlin's back, and his friends stumbled. "Stay here and help. You always did fancy yourself court jester, perhaps you'll pick something up."

Arthur strode away self-importantly, and Merlin made a face at his back. The man noticed and rumbled again with his easy laugh. "I am Zuhair," he said. "I am also an acrobat if you wish to learn to fly."

"Merlin," he responded with his own friendly smile. "But let's start with something I actually understand," he gestured with his thumb, "like setting up camp."

—

Merlin spent most of the morning hours assisting with the build and creating a good impression for Camelot so as to make up for whatever Arthur had done. Zuhair was friendly and spirited, and the two men got along well—chatting about everything and nothing.

The tents were mostly completed, and the others in the troupe were putting the final touches on the colorful fabrics as Merlin and a few other men stabilized a tall pillar. Not all of Camelot was paved, and on the edge of the plaza they had dug a deep hole to hold the pillar. Merlin was now fastening braces around the base while others packed dirt back into the space around the wood.

Another group had done the same with a twin pillar on the opposite side of the square, and Zuhair came running over now with a loop of thick rope corded about his arm. One end of it was already tied to a hook atop the opposite pole. "Is it steady?" He asked.

"As she goes," one of the troupe called.

Zuhair's sprint for them did not abate, and instead he picked up speed then leaped, arms and legs akimbo to grasp hold of the pillar. With ease he shuffled up the rest of the height until he perched on the small circle of space at its peak. Crouching, he slipped the length of rope into another hook at the top of this pole and stretched it until it pulled taut. Finishing with an intricate knot, he used the leftover chord to rappel himself to the ground.

Merlin had spent many years running around the ramparts in Camelot and heights did not bother him. Yet Zuhair moved as if gravity did not even affect him.

"I must check with my sister, then we take a break!"

The man bolted off and Merlin moved back to the center of the square and stretched. The company had drawn a crowd, and many of Camelot's citizens ringed the circle of tents, pointing at the attractions and practicing acrobats. It was almost mystical in its mystery, and the excitement got to Merlin as well.

Zuhair returned from one of the larger tents and approached his new friend. "I'm starving. Will you lead a dying man to food?"

"I know just the place," Merlin replied. A few major roads led off from the plaza, some leading to market and others throughout the lower town, but the one they walked now was lined with eateries, pubs, and taverns. With the lunch hour approaching the street began to fill quickly, and Merlin ducked them into one of the larger pubs.

The Scrawny Chimera was a popular spot, and it was bustling in here as well. After winding their way to the front counter Merlin explained, "Everyone loves their meat pies," then he held up two fingers to the owner.

"Should I put it on the knight's tab?"

Merlin blinked at him, then turned and studied Zuhair. He was dressed in clothes no better than Merlin's, and certainly didn't have a sword or the fierce expression of a hardened soldier. "Which knight?"

The owner gestured with his chin behind them, and now that Merlin was looking he saw Gwaine dressed in plainclothes and hunched over a barrel.

"Yeah, he can pay," Merlin said with a smirk. Then to Zuhair he said, "Come meet the rogue."

Slapping a hand on Gwaine's shoulder barely startled the knight, drowning as he was in his half-eaten meal.

"Are you still down about losing?" Merlin said with a laugh.

"It was two on one," Gwaine groused as Merlin and Zuhair pulled over a pair of stools. "The betrayer and _Elyan_ obviously had an alliance to get me out first."

The knight and acrobat made their introductions, and the food arrived shortly after. "By the way, you're paying," Gwaine earned in a day what he made in a season, and Merlin hardly had reason to feel guilty.

"Not like I have anything else to spend it on. Not even a woman!" Gwaine paused and scratched at his beard. "Though there is a lovely lady who arrived with the carnival. Think you could introduce me?" He waggled his eyebrows at Zuhair.

"What does she look like?"

"Brown skin, long black hair, only saw her from afar. But, she wore _pants_!"

Zuhair laughed brightly. "You mean Zara."

Gwaine winked at Merlin as his spirits rose. "She is a beauty."

"She is my twin sister."

Gwaine blanched and put his hands up in mock surrender. "Lucky I didn't say what I was planning to do with her." Merlin started chuckling at his antics, so the knight turned his focus on his friend. "It appears I've angered the fates, and I'll have do something chivalrous to make up for it." He grinned mischievously. "Let's get you a woman, Merlin."

"What?" Merlin startled, his spoonful of food missing his mouth and falling with a splat onto the barrel.

"An escort for Midsummer's Eve," Gwaine continued with a wide smile. "How about it, Merlin? There's a buxom wench who works at the Rising Sun."

"Joel's wife?" Merlin said sarcastically, and before Gwaine could continue and truly embarrass him in front of his fellow servants, he lied, "I already have a date."

Gwaine's eyebrows shot up and then he returned to the slouch they'd found him in. "My life is pitiful."

With the conversation ground to a halt, Zuhair picked up his and Merlin's spoon and started tossing them into the air, performing a one-handed juggle. "I think I actually _could_ do that," Merlin said jokingly.

Zuhair was quick to begin animatedly explaining the trick, and the distraction was enough to pull Gwaine from his mood. He handed his spoon to Zuhair as well, and the man easily melded the utensil into the practiced movement of his arm. Gwaine brushed his long hair from his face and grinned. "I want to meet her, Merlin."

"Right," Merlin said dumbly. "Wait, now?" He shook his head rapidly and focused his thoughts. "No, I have things to do. Arthur chores, servant chores, I have to wash the sheets after all—" he stood to his feet and said rapidly. "In fact, I should do that now. I'll introduce you later, Gwaine."

He strode quickly away, saying goodbye to Zuhair who turned and waved, no longer even paying attention to the spoons flying by his head. Once outside, Merlin berated himself. _Great lie, Merlin, truly. Now what are you going to do?_ He didn't even want to bring a girl to the feast, much less court one. The deep ache in his chest had not left yet, and he preferred not to face it.

Though, perhaps he was being a coward.

Merlin fetched a moderate lunch for the royal couple, and after laying their table gathered their sheets and dropped them with the linen maids. Mattie promised to have them done by evening, and little Nellie peered at him from behind a large stack of fabric.

Later, after he'd locked the chamber door behind him and watched as his magic spun Arthur's dresser lazily through the air, he realized there was nothing wrong with taking a female friend to the feast. Gwaine could leap to whatever conclusions he wanted.

The armoire settled into the corner he had been aiming at with a thud, and with a flick of his fingers he released the room's locks.

Merlin trotted out of the castle and past the archway leading out of the courtyard. From there, it was only a short walk to Morholt manor, and he knocked on the front door with a grin plastered on his face in preparation. George answered the door with his usual pinched expression. "Merlin," he said stiffly.

"George!" Merlin said in faked surprise. "Did you get demoted?"

The former-servant-then-former-chamberlain-assistant sneered haughtily. "I am now the Bailiff of the Morholt estate."

"Congratulations," Merlin said cheekily.

"If you worked harder, than perhaps you could succeed like me," George said. "Though your impudence would continue to hold you back."

"Always lovely seeing you, George. Is Miri here?"

The young woman had come to the top of the stair, at first curious as to who was at the door, and then excitedly once she'd realized it was Merlin. "I'm here," she called.

"The queen requests Miri's services," Merlin explained to George. "Can Mistress Vanora part with her for the afternoon?"

"I certainly would not know," George walked away primly. "It is not my duty to handle the servants."

Miri flounced down the stairs, her messy braid bouncing as she did, and grinned up at Merlin when she finally landed in front of him. "He's had a stick in his arse since he arrived," she asserted. "I'll go ask permission and meet you here."

Merlin stood to the side and looked out on the manor's grounds and the street beyond. Servants hurried along on their daily tasks, and a minor noble and lady walked by arm-in-arm, ignorant of the bustle around them and lost in each other's conversation. His heart clenched, but he shook the feeling off quickly.

The gypsy girl returned then, a devious smile on her face as she joined Merlin's side. "I hope her majesty doesn't need me soon; I could use a breather."

"She doesn't need you at all," Merlin said with a grin. "I'm breaking you out."

"I knew you were a bad influence," she reached up to grasp ahold of one of his earlobes and tugged. "Where are you taking me, captor?"

"To see the carnival." He gave her a sidelong glance. "I figured you'd like to hear their stories."

Her face brightened, and she picked up her skirts and ran a few steps forward. "Well, come on!"

—

The change that had come over the carnival grounds was astounding, considering he'd been here only a few hours ago. Children swamped most of the foot-space, and other men and women had already taken the rest of the day off to gawk at the acts in motion above and around them.

Most of the tents now had signs, and crowds had gathered at the entrance of each, eager to see what strange foreign wares were being sold and what secret shows hid behind the fabric. One tent stood alone among the others, and he narrowed his eyes to read the small writing on its sign. It merely read _Advice_ , but below it, in elegant calligraphy, the old language translation read _Fortunes_.

His magic reacted, churning within him as he instantly began to worry for both Arthur and the seer in equal part. It would only take one person to turn this fair into a witch-hunt, and Merlin did not expect any magic-user to go quietly.

Now that his senses had heightened and his magic began to thread itself into his reality, he more clearly saw the swirl of energy coming from within the fortune-teller's tent. There was nothing outwardly dark about it, and the knowledge let him relax a fraction. By then he had completely forgotten the girl at his side, but Miri closed her fingers over his elbow and started to draw him towards a storyteller's tent.

She was saying something to him, dark eyes excited and full of wonder. But everything he had was thrown within his probe, and all he could do was nod ignorantly at her and smile.

Then they were inside the fabrics and the sounds of the crowd had dulled. An elder man was already in the throes of a tale and Miri pulled them into an empty space to listen. She leaned against his shoulder and let the story fully ensnare her.

The magic rolled from him and washed over the foreign enchantment only a little ways away. Whatever story was being told was entirely lost to him as he instead picked apart the layered spell. It felt like a shield, but also like a cage.

The whispers started then, sliding like shadows along the boundaries of his consciousness, and he physically twisted as he tried to both hear them and get away from them. Needing to see the cause for himself, he pulled away from Miri who barely reacted to the loss of his presence, only glancing at him briefly.

Outside he passed through the crowds until he entered the empty sphere of influence. His magic now hummed beneath his skin and he slunk in a circle around the enchantment as he tried to pinpoint what could have made the strange almost-sound. Around the back of the tent he thought he heard it again, but when he listened closer all he discerned was a woman's muffled voice from within.

His ear now nearly pressed against the taut material, he overheard "—just a new toy for the Sarrum."

"Merlin?"

He jumped and turned, and Gwaine cocked his head to the side as he studied his friend's confused expression.

"What were you doing?"

"Er…eavesdropping?"

"Hear anything interesting?"

"Not what I was looking for."

Gwaine beckoned him closer and Merlin was happy to move away before anyone else caught him without a better explanation. "I need you to see something, and to tell me whether I'm crazy or not."

"Sounds easy enough."

Merlin followed the knight, who now kept a hand on the hilt of his sword, through the grimy streets of the lower town until they came upon the rear of the dog kennels. At this time of day many of the hunting dogs were out with their trainers or caretakers, but those that remained were lost in a fit of either barking or whining. This was disconcerting, but certainly not extremely unusual—a passing small creature had been known to set them off before.

But as they drew nearer, Merlin saw what had made his friend so serious. Spread across the wide expanse of grass were body parts—blood and guts and flesh of an animal. "It's one of the dogs," Gwaine explained quietly. "Now, do you see what I see?"

Merlin followed Gwaine's outstretched finger and nearly jumped out of his skin.

Across the field sat a demon.

Merlin watched it bring a leg to its mouth and gnaw at the meat. Most of its body was covered in white cloth to appear human, but its skin was smokeless fire. Its eyes raised from its kill, and they connected with Merlin's. In a flash the being was before them, standing and staring.

He stumbled back, but Gwaine's lack of response spoke volumes. _No. No I don't see what you see._

"It's floating," Gwaine said, eyes focused on the half-eaten bone in the creature's hand. "That's strange, isn't it?"

The thing tilted towards Gwaine, its fiery face inspecting the knight that had ventured into its area. "Get away from there," Merlin said tightly.

Gwaine looked at him oddly. "I've never seen you react so strongly to magic." He moved to grab a hold of the 'floating' leg, and Merlin physically yanked him backwards. For an instant all three figures were motionless: Gwaine in surprise, the creature in curiosity, and Merlin rapidly deciding how to best defend Gwaine while attacking the unknown beast.

Then it titled its head to the side, listening, and blinked away.

Merlin released Gwaine then, and the knight went to inspect the fallen leg. Finding nothing outlandish he stood and prodded it with his boot, before turning back to his confidant. His friend's eyes were wide and staring in the direction of the troupe, and Gwaine had to nudge him with an elbow to retrieve his attention. Misinterpreting Merlin's distraction he said, "I paid attention to your story. 'Accusing our new friends of magically floating dog bones is not something that should be taken lightly', right?"

"Right," Merlin answered vacantly. Then he straightened and seemed to get a hold on himself. Firmly he said, "Get Gaius to give you his book of monsters, and look for anything that would appear invisible to the human eye."

"You think something physically did this?" Gwaine gestured at the scattered remains around them, sounding skeptical.

"I saw footprints," Merlin said desperately. "In the grass, I could tell it was standing."

Gwaine looked at their feet, passing a critical eye over the short blades. "Clever," he murmured. _This is like the Lamia._ He straightened, and for an instant, the same focus passed over Merlin.

 _He always knows._

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Amata is the Sarrum's lands.  
(2) A Reeve would be in charge of castle upkeep and the workers. Hook is the Reeve, and he is also the hook-nosed old man Nellie mentioned in 4. 'Hook' is a derogatory nickname that the servants use.  
(3) The troupe is either middle-eastern or Egyptian. I've decided the Sarrum is from that area of the world. I just really wanted some ethnic diversity. Also, Arthur would have paid them—the troupe wouldn't have sold tickets.  
(4) Lalla (another word for Lady) Sheba is named after the Queen of Sheba.  
(5) In 5 Arthur and Merlin decide to make George in charge of finances for Mistress Vanora Morholt so that she doesn't bankrupt the place.  
(6) Near the end Gwaine is referring to 8—Merlin's rendition of The Changeling.

 **Author's Note:  
**

 _Er…commercial break? This chapter got insanely long. If you're binge reading this in some future, get a drink, walk around, and I'll meet you all on the flip side._

As for everyone else, well, let's say this is an experiment with broken up chapters. Tell me if it ruins the suspense to have to wait.

I guess my Arthur likes to secretly feed Merlin. Hopefully he didn't come off as too much of a prat, but I just find them being stroppy with each other funny.

I decided to expand Camelot so it sounds more like the capitol it is. So, welcome to the Scrawny Chimera. I also have gone crazy drawing out a map of the city. Does anyone know of a place where I could make a digital hosted version for people to link to? Preferably with zooming capabilities so that I can have maps within maps.

I would be mad at Merlin for leading Miri along, but Miri can handle herself.

To my reviewers: So, Gwaine's not the champion. Sorry those who were hoping for that! Originally I had him competing as well, but I think it's better if he's spending time with Merlin instead. Also, I'm going to start PMing responses instead of leaving them in chapters. I debated about this long ago, and I wanted everyone reading my stories to understand just how much the reviewers affect the story, but, it's taking up too much space. Alas, we'll see how this trial run goes.

 **Next time:** Clean Up In Aisle Four. The creature strikes again, and Merlin makes an ultimatum.


	17. Clean Up In Aisle Four

—Thanks to everyone who told me I had posted the wrong chapter. I'm the worst. Can I blame it on being tired?

 **Clean Up In Aisle Four**

 _The Ides of June (June 8-15)  
_

Elizabeth had no last name. Not that she needed one. Most knew her for the cloths she spun and the quality of her more expensive wares. Even the queen had stopped by in her youth, and everyone knew that the queen was a talented seamstress.

She was older now, having missed the marrying years, but that did not bother her. She was a tall, sturdy woman and she didn't need anyone to fetch her when the market day ended, or carry the many bundles of cloth from her stall to her small spinster's home in the lower town.

This day, Elizabeth was the last of the merchants packing up, and it was yet early evening. The rumors of a traveling circus come to Camelot had pulled many away, and many customers as well.

She leaned and stretched her back. Perhaps she would take a look herself tonight. Her spindle could wait for one day. Bending down again, she stacked another bolt of cloth onto her tarp and then heaved its straps onto her shoulder and stood. With her other hand she reached for her short barrel of scrap, but someone grabbed her arm.

In confusion she flexed her fingers. Then the barrel lifted before her eyes and upended itself, dumping fabric onto her stall and into the wind. She tugged more harshly on her arm and when she couldn't get free, she yelled. "Sorcery!" She tugged harder, starting to panic. "Guards!"

Whatever held her released her then, and on instinct she clutched her rolls of cloths, all bound on long wooden spools, and swung. She felt the concussion of hitting something solid, and she backed away breathlessly. "Get back!"

Her air whooshed from her lungs and she went sprawling on the stones as something tackled her around the middle. Then the grip was on her knee and she was being lifted and she yelled again, hands scrabbling for her weapons that rolled out of reach. It tugged at her leg again, as if angry, trying to get her to be quiet.

Elizabeth pulled back a fist and punched.

She passed through empty space, but it also forced the hold on her to vanish. Stumbling, her skirts whirling about her as her feet scrambled to catch a stable stance on the road, she reached for the closest spool and held it threateningly above her. The panic in her eyes was unlikely to make it pause, and the steady retreat of her step betrayed her desire to flee.

Waiting…ready…and then the terror took her, and she spun on her toe, hitched the front of her skirt with a hand, and sprinted for the castle.

—

After Gwaine had agreed to return for the castle, Merlin went stalking back to the campgrounds, adamant that nothing would stop him from finding out who, or what, was in that tent.

Despite the larger crowd he didn't break stride, and his hand was on the entrance flap before something grabbed the back of his tunic and yanked. On instinct his eyes flashed gold and he paralyzed every person in the square.

He pulled himself from the grip and spun, fully expecting to see the fiery man. More powerful creatures would not be affected by the energy spell, even if it was wide-reaching. However behind him with arm outstretched was not the dog-eating beast, but a tall dark-haired woman. She wore pants that cinched at the waist and billowed around her legs, and the no-nonsense glare on her features told Merlin that Zuhair's twin would not likely be his next friendly acquaintance.

Knowing he couldn't escape and have it appear that he'd disappeared before her eyes, he twisted back round and released the spell. He made sure to move quickly the moment everyone returned so she wouldn't catch his sudden change in position, and he was facing her before her hand had the time to relax.

She recovered quickly. "Lalla Sheba is not seeing visitors now."

"I can hear her speaking with someone now; I'll wait."

"You will be waiting a long time," she said sternly. "Perhaps you should go watch the acrobats." Zara believed she had called his bluff, but she had no idea how serious he was. She also had no reason to think he could see the creature, and assumed even if he was one of those crazy's that truly would wait, he would never have reason to believe the mysterious visitor had left.

Or perhaps she thought he'd get bored and leave, but Merlin was transfixed on the new layer of strength being added to the binding spell, and his mind was aflood with all the reasons Sheba would need it.

The tent flap twitched, to most it would have been the flit of a breeze, but Merlin plainly saw the fiery gaze of the creature before it disappeared into the streets of Camelot. Angrier now that the thing was loose in his city's streets, he strode into the tent ignoring Zara's new shout of protest.

She was storming after him, hand now holding a dagger, and she reached for his collar when Sheba stopped her. "So you're the one who he said can see him."

"' _He_ ' just mauled a hunting dog."

The tension in the tent crackled, and Sheba gestured with her eyes for Zara to sheathe her weapon. The girl did not, but she did remove her hand from Merlin's collar.

Sheba herself was a thin woman and her fine hair piled atop her head was wrapped within a bright scarf. When she straightened and tilted her chin up, she looked almost regal. "Just this morning your king informed me of the delicacies that awaited my company should we stay for Midsummer. Is the death of those animals so different?"

Merlin scowled. "Arthur has no intention of ripping apart any citizens for dinner."

"Unless they have magic, of course," she replied with a low hiss.

He snapped, and a pulse of his magic buffeted the two woman, sending them stumbling back a step. The action did more than words ever could have, and he waited with clenched fists to see if Sheba would continue her defense.

Instead, she breathed, "A sorcerer in Camelot."

He chose not to correct her. "Call your creature off, or I will be forced to make you."

Quietly, again. "Zara, please leave."

"But Lalla—"

The seer cut her off with another stern glance, and Zara soured. "Guard the entrance." After a tight nod and a muttered phrase in a language Merlin for once didn't understand, Zara left, and Sheba returned her gaze to him. "Zara is not happy that I have put my troupe in danger."

Sheba glided back to a table in the center of the room and slipped into its lone chair. The candle upon it shivered in its cradle.

"He is no mindless animal. He is one of the djinn from the old lands." The thoughts of her home blended with her subtle magic, and Merlin could nearly see the blinding heat of the day and the sands stretching everlasting. "I do not know how he came to be here in Albion, but I found him wandering the lands of Amata."

Sheba's lip curled, her eyes lost a memory. "I have seen what happens to the creatures of the old world when the Sarrum finds them."

"Dumping him in Camelot should not have been your solution," Merlin said grimly.

She snapped. "I am not leaving him here to be slaughtered either!" Merlin's eyes narrowed but she did not flinch. "I did what I could. I bound him to me. I have brought my troupe to Camelot so that I may have time to strengthen the spell."

Sheba stretched a thin arm towards him, and upon her finger was a heavy copper and iron ring. Magic clenched densely around it, and when Merlin stretched a hand over it he could tell all she'd done was amplify the binding properties of the metal. All it could do was keep it near her. "This is not enough. You have to add a spell that will stop him from hurting humans."

"He does not like the taste of man."

Merlin's mouth opened in preparation to argue, but he swiftly realized she had no desire to risk the lives of her people, and the hex was missing only because she lacked the power or knowledge to cast it. "If you wish to remain in Camelot, you will let me add this spell."

Her eyes judged his youth but she decided quickly. "Very well."

Standing again, she placed her palm up between them. Merlin's hands wound absently around the ring, stirring the magic she'd built as he mulled over how to cast the spell he had so adamantly demanded. Of course he had not heard a specific string of words that would do what he wanted, but if he focused usually his magic figured it out by itself.

His exact desire solidifying in his mind, Merlin splayed his fingers over her and his magic swelled until his senses tingled. He was a moment away from casting when Arthur barged in.

Merlin blanched and sucked in a lungful of air as his magic shuddered back into its cage. Sheba subtly tucked her hands back into the folds of her dress.

" _Mer_ lin? What are you—never mind." Arthur turned back to Lalla Sheba as Gwaine tumbled in, Zara hot on his ankles.

"I tried to stop them!" She called.

"Apologies for interrupting your discussion with… my manservant," Arthur tried diplomatically. "But a woman was attacked by an invisible being in our market, and Gwaine told me you may know something about this."

Merlin turned burning eyes to the seer, but she shrewdly did not look to him. "I have heard of such things. I believe I can help you."

Arthur looked satisfied with the promise of a plan, but before he delved too far into the details he turned to Merlin. "Go help Gaius."

He wanted to argue, but Leon drew everyone's attention as he entered with a retinue of knights. The space quickly became crowded and hot, and when the performers began to clamor at the entrance, Merlin knew he had lost any chance of solving this issue swiftly.

"Stop gawking and go," Arthur said stiffly.

Merlin grit his teeth and strode out, briefly parting the crowd of oglers before they closed like the sea behind him. Hardly anyone gave him a second look as he stalked back through the city and into the castle, still frowning when he finally entered the physician's chambers.

"What's wrong with you?" Gaius retorted immediately, lips pursed unsympathetically. "Get attacked by an invisible beast recently?"

"No," Merlin answered guiltily, and shot his glance over to the woman Arthur had mentioned. She looked all in one piece, though frightened and dirty. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Talk with her while I finish brewing this tea. We need to narrow down what that thing was."

It was too difficult to try to explain to Gaius what a djinn was while simultaneously making up a reason as to why he'd know so the patient wouldn't suspect him. Gaius would just have to be out of the loop this time around. Walking over to the older woman, he realized it was Elizabeth—the merchant from the lower town whom he'd bought his mother's new year's gift from. "I still owe you fresh blackcurrants, don't I?"

Surprisingly, talk of business was precisely what she needed. The stress lines around Elizabeth's eyes eased. "A full bottle."

"Wait here," Merlin tried for his usual good-humored smile and wandered over to the bookshelf. He'd jarred his first harvest that he'd obtained last week, and his fingers ran over the various potion ingredients until he settled on the fruit. He popped the lid open as he moved back to her. "It was a good batch this year."

The woman plucked one of the plump, black berries between her thumb and forefinger, and popped it into her mouth with her first smile of the evening. "I don't suppose I could convince you these aren't up to standard, and that I'll need two jars?"

"Considering everything that's happened, we may be able to negotiate a new deal."

Gaius joined them with a mug of steaming tea cupped in his hands. "Drink up now, this will help you relax." Elizabeth took the drink gratefully and Gaius continued. "You are welcome to stay here tonight."

"Nearly everything I own is still at the market—"

"Your things will be here any minute," Merlin explained, and it was likely true—he'd seen guards inspecting the area and gathering the fabrics during his walk back.

Gaius pulled a chair from the nearby table and sat before his patient. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Now visibly relaxed with her berries and tea, Elizabeth shortly explained the events at the market. Gaius listened raptly while Merlin's emotions shifted to somewhere between puzzlement and frustration. Had it or had it not tried to hurt her? And did Sheba deserve the benefit of his doubts?

 _No,_ he firmly decided. _Not with Arthur out there stalking it._

"I need to catch back up to the knights," Merlin said bluntly.

Twisting in his chair to catch Merlin's gaze as he advanced on the door, Gaius asked deceptively, "Does _the king_ have a plan?"

 _Do_ I have a plan _?_ "Almost," Merlin replied.

The door swung shut behind him, and he paced towards the servant's stairwell in the rear of the East tower. Guestimating what spell to apply to the binding ring hadn't been the greatest of plans from the start, but he had also believed he'd have time to modify it if things went wrong. Now though, with half the knights stalking Camelot looking for a fight, he'd likely have to get this right the first time.

The halfpenny in his boot was still warm, meaning Arthur was still safe, and surely Arthur wouldn't go wandering off on his own so perhaps he had a little bit of spare time. Not enough to waste on lengthy research, and certainly not enough to trek out to the forest and wait for Kilgharrah. Yet, his desire to ask the Great Dragon brought his feet directly to the caves beneath the castle.

In the darkness he could hear the underground waters flowing from Camelot's moats, and his boots knocked small pebbles from the embankment to send them skittering into the emptiness below.

The familiar spell for light fell from his lips, and after a flash of gold, the small blue spheres floated up into the arching ceiling. Great pillars of stone kept those arches from collapsing, while simultaneously hiding the passageways beyond. Kilgharrah's old perch stood empty.

So many years later, the shackles still sat where Merlin had cleaved them with a simple sword. The magic he had wielded in those days was paltry compared to what he could command now, and his understanding had only grown.

He had not been able to fathom how to break the enchantment on the manacles then, but now the muddy shape of the dense magic began to coalesce before his eyes.

It was a simple, ingenious spell of a wicked caster. Kilgharrah's great might and magic had been free to do anything but touch the chains.

—

For Arthur, prowling the streets of Camelot reminded him of his days as a prince. The never-ending trapeze act, Zuhair, could even replace his bumbling servant.

Lalla Sheba had quickly explained that he and the other knights had no chance of ever seeing the creature, but her and those of her troupe could because of their heritage. If he wanted to hunt it down, he'd have to team up with the acrobats otherwise face the likely embarrassment of walking right past it.

After they had further decided to split up so as to cover more ground, his dear round-table knight had jumped to pair up with the female. Leon had gone off to organize the majority of the search, and Arthur had grabbed the only familiar face left and marched off for the market.

"He'll be hiding now."

Arthur looked up. His companion was crouched on a roof. "That's why we're searching."

"He'll be easier to find when it grows dark."

How did that make any sense? Maybe invisible magical creatures glowed. Arthur just shook his head and looked about the street again. After having sent the last of the guards back to the castle with the merchant's goods, the area was oddly empty. In the growing twilight the huts threw long shadows, and Arthur wondered if he could see the thing if he looked for a silhouette. "Where's a good place to wait then?"

"My sister will know. I see her from here." Zuhair grabbed the lip of the roof and flipped himself back onto the ground. "I do not wish to leave Gwaine alone with her, besides."

"I can't argue with you there."

Arthur sheathed Excalibur and followed the acrobat down a side street, where he could now clearly hear Gwaine grilling the female. She sounded displeased. When the two came into view, the woman was striding ahead with her nose in the air while Gwaine followed after with his usual good-humored expression.

"You said you did not have to follow the routes," she argued.

"Yes, but we'll hardly find anything stomping through Camelot at this pace." Gwaine grinned. "Unless you're that eager to get me in a lonely place."

" _He_ likes remote places," she said stiffly.

"You know a lot about this creature." Arthur watched her startle and Gwaine turned and waved in their direction, his sword wiggling in the air.

"We hear many stories," Zuhair explained as his sister crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Though Zara is the smart one," he stage-whispered.

"Where were you headed?" Arthur asked.

Zara looked annoyed that more people would be getting in her way, and she strode around the king and her brother with a fierce expression on her face. She was emotionally caught between wanting to get rid of the djinn and wanting to keep him safe from the killers of Camelot, though they all did not know that. "The barrows of your city."

"Perhaps he's still hungry," Gwaine added cryptically.

It was night by the time the group had reached the cemetery on the western side of the walls. While most citizens still preferred cremation, some nobles and elder kings had bought space so as to be interned upon their death with their possessions. This usually just caused an influx of nighttime thieving, and thus Arthur had no intention of following the practice himself.

The twins were chatting quietly to themselves, and Arthur sidled up to Gwaine. "I think they all know more than they're letting on."

Gwaine pulled a dagger from his belt and picked at his teeth. "It's likely, especially considering I'm doing the same."

Arthur glowered. "And what are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing based in facts."

Zuhair distracted them with a loud clap, and then he pointed towards their right. Zara's gaze was focused on a particular burial mound, and Arthur's hand closed over the pommel of his sword. "Do you see anything?"

"Look at the grass," Gwaine said quietly.

And sure enough, there was a slight depression in the ground where two feet were standing. "Clever," Arthur commended. Gwaine did not respond to his praise, and Arthur drew Excalibur. "We'll continue our discussion later."

"Unlikely, princess," Gwaine muttered, surprisingly assertive.

He cut a glance at the knight as he moved away, but shook the confused thoughts off. Holding the sword higher, Arthur pulled into a defensive stance and moved closer to the footprints.

Zara also stepped forward, a dagger in each hand. "You do not wish to start a quarrel with the king of Camelot." They all stood tensely, and Arthur saw the footing change to face the girl. "You must visit Lalla Sheba immediately! You have caused us enough trouble!"

In a blink the thing was gone, and even with Arthur's experience tracking, catching the long strides of the thing in the dark of the night was difficult. Luckily Zuhair was pointing again, and Arthur fell into step beside him as the acrobat chased it. "Come quickly!"

Gwaine and Zara caught up, the latter with a grimace, and the two pairs bolted off into the night. It was hard not to feel like this may be some giant joke as he followed the instructions of the two twins, each unerringly leading them through the winding streets of a city they had never seen before.

If they ran into patrols the knights would hurriedly join their king while the performers looked to Zuhair and Zara's unexpected determination. When the growing band burst into the market Zara shouted at her brother, "You must go ahead and warn Lalla Sheba!"

A look passed between them, then Zuhair nodded. Swerving, the acrobat vaulted onto the booths nearby before disappearing over the roofline.

—

In the night lit streets, Merlin trod quietly. After this many years sneaking in and around Camelot he knew the guard positions well, but with Leon out with half the forces on high alert, one cavalier move would get him ordered back to the castle.

So with practiced stealth Merlin slunk from alleyway to shadow until he arrived at the front gates. The show grounds were desolate compared to the cacophony of the early evening, and Merlin moved unmolested to Sheba's tent.

The cloying smell of smoke made his eyes water, and he coughed when he entered. Sheba was working at her central table by the light of the candles, and after noticing him closed the leather bound book before her. THE PICATRIX was burned onto the front cover. "How does the woman fare?"

"She is mostly uninjured." He moved forward to spy on her book more closely and from the new angle noticed astronomical symbols printed in circular arrays. It must be her own book of magic. "What were you researching?"

Her displeasure writ itself in obvious strokes from the press of her lips to the cold in her eyes. "I realized that if I had allowed you to complete your spell, he would be out there hunted by your knights and unable to defend himself."

"He doesn't need protection from them, they need protection from him. The djinn can hide himself in plain sight."

She hissed. "Even in Amata I have heard of the power of the sword in the stone."

Merlin did his best to school his surprise. Exactly what rumors were going around? "Look," Merlin paused, frowned. "What's your plan for when he turns on you?"

"He wouldn't," she said tightly.

"You think he likes being bound to your ring?" She was furious with him now, and her long fingers clenched into fists. It didn't stop him. "Eventually you'll have to decide between him and your people. It's up to you whether you decide to do that alone or with me to help you."

The candles flickered as a breeze swept through the tent, and Merlin twisted to look at the entrance. The djinn stood in the doorway, flap pushed above his fiery head and burning gaze sweeping over them both. The shouts of the hunting party carried over the wind. "Choose, Sheba. I can't stay."

For a moment it appeared she would not back down, then her proud shoulders wilted by a hair, and she pushed out her hand. The iron ring yet clung to her finger, and its dull metal looked out of place there.

Knowing Arthur could come charging in at any second, Merlin raised a palm toward both the strengthened spell and the djinn. His magic tumbled out, still raw and crackling and bringing with it the smell of ozone, and it tore through her binding like paper. The djinn may then have escaped if not for that other magic, that outside magic, coiling round the creature's wrists. Then, although he didn't know the words, he knew the _feel_ …he knew the _look…_

Merlin's eyes burned a brilliant gold, and Sheba breathed, "Not a sorcerer, but a warlock." The spell crystallized before them, its light and shape throwing the colors of the interior into stark contrast, and in the sudden searing quiet her whisper carried. "That at least explains how you survived Uther's Camelot."

The strangely powerful servant boy turned to her, eyes returned to their bright blue. "I survived because there is something I still need to do."

The sound of sure feet on stone—then a silhouette caught behind the djinn. Zuhair stepped into the light, looking flushed and surprised to see Merlin. He did not hold his secret long though, "The king and his men will be here any minute. They wish to kill him."

"Leave them to me," Sheba replied with the smallest of quavers in her voice.

"I'll be outside," Merlin murmured and strode around her before ducking out of the back.

"Can I have a moment alone?"

Zuhair hesitated, but nodded and let the front flap close behind him. Now only her and the djinn in the room, she let herself sag into her chair and covered her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I trusted you to trust me," he said with a voice like dry leaves.

"I do—" she wavered.

He cut her off. "Just not enough."

Sheba looked down at the ring dejectedly before hiding her hand away. "The moment you find your people, or a safe place to live, the iron is yours."

The djinn had nothing to say to her new promises, and only stoically stared as he moved away into a corner. Zara burst in a moment later with the king and his knights behind her. Zara looked to her for guidance, having of course seen the djinn waiting nearby.

Sheba cleared her throat and stood tall. "He has hidden himself here," shoving forward the small candlelit lamp on her table, she fixed her eyes on the king. "You must destroy him now."

Arthur looked skeptically at the lamp then at her. Hopefully he would not think magic was involved, because she had little to defend herself with. Luckily he turned a blind eye to whatever suspicions he had and hefted Excalibur above his head. With a mighty swipe he smite the lamp from her desk, spilling glass and melted wax across the cloth and ground.

The djinn slipped emotionlessly past Sheba even as Zara started to assert that she could no longer see the 'creature'. Knights began to praise both her and Arthur while she felt her stomach curdle further.

 _Gods forgive me for the secrets that I keep._

 _—_

When Merlin finally trudged into the king's quarters the next morning, Arthur was still in bed with the covers pulled over his head. So, instead of his usual perk, he just collapsed into one of the fancy wooden chairs and poked at the bags under his eyes.

"I can hear you there," Arthur's voice grumbled from beneath the sheets.

"You would make a superb knight. I'll get the king to promote you."

Arthur pulled the sheets back by a hair, and hey, reverse psychology did work, before squinting into the bright day. "Don't pretend you could tell me what to do."

"Of course not, sire," Merlin replied dryly. "What did your greatness decide to do with the troupe after last night's escapade?"

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"The kitchen staff thrives on rumors." Merlin frowned. "You didn't jail anyone, did you? You know it wasn't their fault."

Arthur rose from the bed and started tugging a tunic on. "Your friends broke the law, whether I have proof or not." Merlin looked pained and Arthur held his tongue. His friend latched onto the strangest of heroes, and Arthur hated to ruin it for him needlessly. "But I've already decided they will leave Camelot unmolested, since they worked with us to contain the threat."

He turned towards the table to see his manservant grinning proudly at him. Who did he think he was, Gaius?

"Well get up. Or am I to watch you eat my breakfast?"

Merlin got to his feet significantly cheerier than before and Arthur plopped into the still-warm wood.

"But now we have no entertainment for Midsummer's Eve." He watched his friend stick his quirky head into the wardrobe that jutted jauntily from the corner. "Gwaine told me Zuhain taught you to juggle?"

Merlin's head bumped the top of the cabinet as he whirled about. "Don't even think about it, Arthur."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Elizabeth is from 1.  
(2) Awhile back I mentioned my theory on the 'time freeze'. In more detail, I decided it's like stopping energy.  
(3) Lalla (another word for Lady) Sheba is named after the Queen of Sheba, a historic character rumored to be half djinn. The iron ring is a reference to King Solomon's ring that had also trapped a djinn.  
(4) I enjoyed Zuhair and Zara, and I wanted them to have very Arabian sounding names.  
(5) The Picatrix, or Ghayat al Hakim, is a real 'occult' book.

 **Author's Note:  
** Even though I like a powerful Merlin, he did some awesome stuff with freezing time in the first few episodes, then we never see it again. So my reason he doesn't is because 1) more powerful magic users would be immune, and 2) it's limited in range.

I really got caught up this week deciding how magic was going to work. Making up lore has been fun. While all of it doesn't make it into the story, it probably eventually will. Messing around with the magic is probably my favorite part of this.

So, it wasn't a demon, but a djinn, like a genie. I thought I'd do a joke and have him be in the 'lamp'...because...Aladdin. I'm a terrible person.

Gwaine is seriously suspicious. Way more than I ever intended at this stage. But, I love writing it beyond anything. The secrets might end earlier into this year than expected...

To my reviewers: You guys are the best. Look out for another round of PMs and tell me what you think about my magical theory. Maybe I didn't go too into detail in the chapter, but I sort of think of it like crystalline? And there are different patterns and shapes the magic forms to be a spell. Oh—I also decided the classifications of magic-users! I guess Sheba hinted at that a bit. She's a seer, but classification-wise she's the lowest level. The only way she can form spells is by strengthening spells that already exist, or enhancing the magical properties in a material. Tell me your thoughts on this word-vomit and if you have any theories.

 **Next time** : Hold My Beer. We take a break for bromance in the midst of Midsummer revelry.


	18. Hold My Beer

—

 **Hold My Beer**

 _Midsummer (June 21)_

"—and I ended up walking around for two whole days with a stick for a sword!"

The knights burst into guffaws at Gwaine's most recent drunken tale, and Arthur shook his head jokingly. "And to think I knighted you!"

"Did you ever win it back?" Leon asked with amusement.

"You have to tell the part where you get into the fight—" Elyan said, and then he, Percival and Gwaine howled simultaneously. " _I'll go easy on you!_ "

They dissolved into a puddle of laughter and Merlin propped his head on his palm, helplessly chuckling as his own mind buzzed with alcohol.

Midsummer's Eve was the largest festival of the year, rivaled only by the harvest festivals and Ostara. Earlier in the day, the castle staff had carried out every long table from the Great Hall into the courtyard and then laden them with bowls of mead and barrels of beer.

Food had been bread and meat and the season's first fruits served unmethodically and in abundance, and as the sun had set, lines between villager and servant and noble had promptly bled away.

The king of Camelot in a worn out tunic and wine-spotted breeches proved that well enough. "Remind me to demote him in the morning."

"Oi!" Gwaine yelped and pointed a wavering finger at Arthur's nose. "For all the dumb things you do during the day," he slurred, "I'm sure you've made your own stupid mistakes after a few drinks!"

Arthur frowned at the implication and Leon gave him a sidelong look while trying to hide a smile. "Leon knows," Elyan noticed with a grin, "ah, but he'll never tell."

Gwaine smiled wickedly. " _Meeerrrliiinnn,_ I know you've got a story about princess…"

"The only thing Merlin's got is dust bunnies between his ears," Arthur tried to divert.

Merlin made a face at Arthur and wracked his foggy brain for something truly embarrassing. "There was an interesting evening a few months after I arrived in Camelot…" he grinned slyly.

"Whatever you have to say, _Mer_ lin, is moot, because I have never been drunk!"

Percival snorted indelicately.

"I am the king. I am never drunk—everyone else is just too sober."

The group became a mess of snickers again as Merlin tried to string a complete sentence together between bursts of his incredulous laughter. "How do you carry the heavy burden of your ego?"

"Regally." Arthur put his nose in the air and then sniggered, eventually bringing his forehead down onto the table and laughing until he spluttered. Leon had to hit him on the back.

When Merlin glanced up, Gwaine's face was in his mug. "You're empty!" The knight declared before snatching up the tankard.

"No, I'm done—no more!" Merlin tried to catch him but Gwaine danced away with stunning reflexes. Or, Merlin's world was too wobbly to have had much of a chance. "Get back here!"

Merlin stood and extricated himself from the bench, or tried to at least. His feet twisted under him and his knees caught the wood and he went face down into the cobblestones. By the squeal coming from behind him, he had likely just made Arthur's week.

Merlin had barely restrained himself from using a cushioning spell. _Definitely no more mead._ But he wasn't so far gone as to forget his never-ending desire to have the last word.

"Arthur wet the bed!" He yelled impishly and bolted away as Arthur's roar of " _I did not!_ " echoed behind him. By then, he was already closing in on Gwaine whom had gotten distracted by a petite brunette.

Merlin hooked an arm about his neck and nearly bent the man double. "Don't think I haven't heard your bet on how drunk you can get me." The girl blinked up at him with wide doe eyes, and Merlin realized he was being rude. "Oh. Hello." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm Merlin. This is Gwaine, but most everyone knows him as the Wastrel of the East." Gwaine elbowed him in the stomach. "Ow."

"We've met," she said shyly.

Merlin took a moment to study her button nose and blushing cheeks. "The candlemaker's assistant," he grinned in recognition. "Do I finally get to learn your name?"

After the rogue's second elbow attack, Merlin finally removed his weight. Gwaine said jauntily, "Mate, do you have intentions for this lovely lass?"

He flushed and the girl squeaked into a bashful, and unneeded, bow. "I'm not the one with bad intentions," Merlin countered. "And give me back my mug!"

Someone, definitely a girl, wrapped themself around his other arm and he turned to the side with surprise. Miri was glaring at the other female. "Buzz off."

 _Oh dear,_ Merlin barely had time to think before Gwaine whirled around in excitement and winked exaggeratedly. "Do some things I would do!" _Gods._ He was blushing to the tips of his ears—he just knew it.

"Nice meeting you," Miri said, less rude but still blatantly dismissive. The brunette mumbled something to her shoes and hurried away. "Merlin, will you walk me home?" Miri looked up at him through her dark eyelashes, ever brazen. "It's late, and it's dark."

"Er…yeah," he agreed, still feeling a bit dumbfounded. He looked about for his friend, but Gwaine had run off again, unfortunately still holding his tankard. That didn't bode well.

The courtyard was a mass of people, and a more rambunctious crowd had not been seen in months. It was a struggle to edge his traipsing mind through the many distractions. But, after making it onto the main road, the short walk to the Morholt's manor was peaceful.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Merlin asked, deciding his numbed lips had enough of his focus so as not to stumble.

"I never get a chance to escape; of course I had a good time. I'm eternally trapped in that bird cage of a manor!"

"Is it really so bad? It's one of the cushiest places in Camelot."

Miri blew a few stray strands from her eyes. "I wish I had left with the carnival."

"If you want to see Albion, don't let the Mistress stop you," he smiled warmly. "But I'm glad you stayed."

If he hadn't had so much to drink, he may have realized that was his second mistake. His first was somewhere between that last tankard and agreeing to walk her home, but that level of deduction was a pipe dream at this point in the night.

Miri nuzzled her head against his shoulder, a bit unsteady herself, and giggled. "You get to travel all the time with the king," she said.

"Sure," he agreed. Usually they were tramping about in forests—which did not yield epics of the ages—so he kept that information to himself.

"What's the most _amazing_ place you've been?"

Sounds of revelry in the lower town carried on the wind, and the nearby manors were silent, dark sentries. Candlelight burned from the study in the Morholt's estate—George, assuredly. "Camelot, actually. Though, I'm not from here," he added apologetically after her slight pout.

"I guess it isn't _so_ bad," she drawled as they made their way up the front walk. "As long as you take me out to see something new soon, I suppose I'll survive."

When they reached the front door she swiveled round and looked up at him expectantly. She wanted him to do something, didn't she?

Actually he knew exactly what she was anticipating, and images of Freya flashed through his mind. _Fie,_ he thought blankly.

—

Elyan was whittling away at a new chunk of wood that was rapidly becoming a misshapen horse.

"So, Elyan," Arthur said, interrupting his concentration. "I hear you're representing me in the tournament."

"I could be representing Gwen," he replied smartly.

Percival chuckled at this. "I won't settle for anything less than champion after you bested Gwaine and I."

"I was not bested, you both cheated," the aforementioned groused. He perked up when he saw Merlin approaching. "Ah, the prodigal ladies-man returns. Didn't want to bring any of your new friends back with you?"

"Ugh," was the servant's only response before he slouched back into his former seat.

Gwaine shoved Merlin's refilled stein back to him and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. "You don't have to talk about it." Merlin took a few huge gulps and then slumped until his forehead hit the greasy table.

"How many are confirmed to compete?" Leon asked, keeping to the subject at hand.

"Sixteen, and they should start arriving three days hence," Arthur said glumly, playing with a ring of condensation.

"Don't change your mind at the last second," Elyan warned, "I went through too much to get this spot."

"I won't," Arthur frowned, obviously slightly upset to be left out of the proceedings, though none at the table would call him out for wallowing. "And don't offer to be my drinking buddy throughout the tournament, Gwaine, I don't need one."

"Fine!" Gwaine said indignantly. "I have other plans too." He quickly mulled over productive ideas while Merlin silently drank more from his mug. Suddenly, with the single-mindedness of someone who's focus was mostly on his balance, he stood and started unbuckling his scabbard.

"Am I invited, or are you still angry with me?" Percival said piquantly.

"Will you be telling all my secret techniques to your new best friend?" Gwaine gestured to Elyan who just rolled his eyes.

"We are a team," Leon interjected, making a show of trying to keep the peace.

Gwaine finished rearranging his scabbard onto his opposite hip and plunked himself back down onto the bench. "Merlin will help me, eh Merlin?" He looked over at his friend who had his forehead on the table again. Gwaine had to reach out for their mugs, which were jittering oddly. "Merlin? Fall asleep, mate?" He poked at the blue fabric on his friend's shoulder, but got no response. He poked again and this time Merlin bolted upward with wide eyes.

"Huh?" He shook his head, pushed the drinks further away from him. "Yeah, I can help. It's surely better than target practice with Arthur."

"Nothing is better than throwing daggers at you, Merlin," Arthur countered with a grin.

"One day you'll miss, and then who's going to bathe you?" Merlin slurred slightly.

Arthur squawked. "You are infuriating. Gwaine, you have permission to accidentally injure him."

Gwaine only slung an arm around the servant and tugged him to standing. Merlin looked a little wobbly on his feet. "Well, see you ladies later. Merlin and I have some plans to make."

Merlin pointed at the carving in Elyan's hand and blurted, "I have one just like that, but it's not a horse."

"Heave ho, let's go," Gwaine said and marched Merlin from the courtyard.

It was much later into the night than proper, and the main thoroughfare leading to the lower town was dead silent. The two men's shuffling feet echoed on the cobblestones. "Does everything seem a bit golden to you?" Merlin asked drunkenly.

"It's the middle of the night, mate, of course not. But I need to have some of what you're having."

Merlin mumbled something before rapping himself on the forehead with his knuckles. As they stumbled onward Gwaine got a wicked idea. In fact, he got two. Perhaps he should of felt guilty for taking advantage of his friend's drunken state, but guilt really wasn't his style. "Tell me why you hate the Druids."

Merlin frowned. "Kara is mean to me."

Gwaine raised a brow. "Any other reason? Kidnapping Morgana? Magic in general?"

Merlin's face pinched. " _No_ ," he responded a mite angrily.

After reaching the city square, Gwaine steered them south into the road filled with taverns and pubs. This area of the city was still bustling with other night owls, and a few people called to him through doorways. Gwaine ignored them for the scent he was currently tracking. "That Druid elder—"

"Iseldir's nice. Druids are nice. I trust him," Merlin blabbed. "At least, I think I do. Bleise though…"

 _So, Merlin didn't hate them?_ "Then why did you look so mad during the round table meeting?"

Merlin furrowed his brows and studied him, blue eyes muddied with confusion. Finally he said, "Sick."

Gwaine's interrogation lapsed as they diverted into Lantern Alley. Merlin was starting to show signs of more cognizant life and likely wasn't going to be spilling any more of his guts.

"I wish you'd had a chance to meet her…" Merlin trailed off when the familiar lights and colors of the yellow-stripe district came into view. Merlin turned on him then, voice accusing. "What exactly are we doing here?"

He tried to grin innocently. "The address amuses me."

Merlin shook his head rapidly and shoved him in the back, pushing him away from the prostitution ring. "Absolutely not. Not three different girls in a season…"

Merlin was mumbling under his breath, but Gwaine caught the words because of the manner of their propulsion. "Three?" he said delightedly, allowing himself to be driven without much of a fight. "Do tell. I only know of the gypsy."

"Please tell me your grand plan to stay busy during the tournament isn't to get me _laid—"_

Gwaine chortled. "I got sidetracked." He patted the sword at his hip and explained his initial idea. "I'm going to learn to fight left handed, and you're going to help me."

"Left handed, huh?" Merlin ceased to push him, and fell into step beside him. "I'm not much of a swordsman, you know."

"That's alright. The most important thing is to keep it a secret from the others. I know you're good with those." They made it back to the main road, and Gwaine swung his head back and forth to look in both directions. "We have to find a place I can practice without them knowing."

"I know of a good clearing a little outside the walls."

Gwaine grinned, "Excellent." Then he startled. "Mate, do you see that?"

Merlin turned to the south, blearily focusing on where the plaza only barely came into view. There were large shadows moving in the darkness, and as they stood there, one came clomping out of it and into the main road. It trotted past the Scrawny Chimera, met them with an uninterested glance, and then continued up the road. "I see it." Some sort of half human, half—

"It's half ass," Gwaine said, remarkably gleeful despite the possible threat. "Princess' twin has returned at long last!"

"They don't seem to be causing much damage," _and I have a killer headache. "_ Why don't we let Leon handle this?"

But Gwaine was already gone, chasing after the donkey man and shouting that he was taking it all the way to the courtyard to meet Arthur. Merlin sighed.

He turned the opposite way, moving sluggishly for the plaza and hoping to reason with the rest of them before Arthur came round waving Excalibur.

—

The crack of dawn found Merlin huddled in the fetal position on his cot, pillow pulled over his face. It also found Gaius climbing grumpily up the stairs for the second time that year.

"Merlin," he said to the unmoving lump. It did not respond. Gaius sighed, but was unsurprised. He'd brought the bucket for a reason, after all.

With one hand he pulled Merlin's thin pillow from his head, and with the other dumped the cold water onto his ward's face. His dexterity wasn't what it used to be, and the bucket slipped from his fingers to clang against Merlin's shoulder.

There was something to be said for Merlin's likely discomfort, because after the attack the boy just blinked blearily at him before fishing for the bucket and slipping that over his head instead.

"Merlin!" Gaius said, more exasperated now. "There are onocentaur's running amok in the lower town. You have to get rid of them before Arthur realizes and gathers the knights."

"I tried. They're as dumb as doornails." Merlin's voice sounded hollowly from within the metal.

"Did you say the proper spell for expulsion of wild animals?"

Silence. Then, "No."

"I have it bookmarked downstairs. Now get up."

"I'm up," he replied, but he didn't move a muscle.

" _Now_ , Merlin!"

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Balinor gave Merlin a wooden carving of a dragon.  
(2) How to get to the prostitution district in case any of you are looking for a night cap ;) : Exit castle grounds. S/SW on Thoroughfare through upper town. Reach Dragonsbane Square. S (ish) on the tavern road, pass the Rising Sun and take a left into a side alley. This becomes Lantern Alley, which eventually leads into the Yellow-Stripe District.  
(3) Merlin is talking about the clearing he meets Kilgharrah in.  
(4) Onocentaur's are half human/half donkey.

 **Author's Note:**

I needed a bit of a break. So, drunkenness abounded. Was there plot? Uh, kind of?

 _Miri keeps showing up totally unplanned!_ I thought writing Freya would stop me. I am seriously forcing myself to stop writing her for now. I have other things I need to get to without being distracted. You guys can decide what happened at the front door.

What should I name the Candlemaker's Assistant? I know what I initially wanted to name her, but I'm not in love with it. She may be nameless forever. Bigger question: How do I get a beta? If I get to pick, I'd want someone who has already written a few stories themselves, someone who will let me bounce ideas off them, and critique me harshly.

Also, I'm on a Merlin tropes kick. I think this was drunk!Merlin.

 **Next time** : Itsy Bitsy Spiders. The tournament is a web of lies, spun together by its many attendees. And Merlin is trapped in the center. There must be something about him that screams he can keep a secret.


	19. Itsy Bitsy Spiders

— PSA: Here there be cursing.

 **Itsy Bitsy Spiders**

 _The Nones of July (July 1-7)_

It was one of those days where the sun had burned every cloud from the sky, and its brightness blinded you from every reflective surface.

Those that hailed from other areas of the kingdom or Albion had been arriving all morning, and Merlin had been run nearly ragged trying to get them in front of Arthur as swiftly as possible.

The king had adamantly conscripted the competitors on a tour of Camelot, with everything from the castle and tournament grounds to the taverns, and Merlin was about ready to drop a wooden plank on Arthur's head just to keep him sequestered in Gaius' chambers.

A fresh-faced youth from a noble house in the northwestern Caerleon had arrived, a bit of time ago now, and Merlin had yet to find Arthur and thus had left the lad standing awkwardly in the courtyard all this time—

He stumbled. _What did I just_ …? Merlin looked around near his feet expecting some strange piece of metal. He shook his right foot, wondering if it had pierced through the sole of his boot—Again, a frigid cold stung the arch of his skin, and with a jolt he realized it wasn't some trinket on the ground but the halfpenny he'd bound to Arthur—

His magic burst to the forefront of his senses, and his subconscious had captured the tendril-like tunnel running from his foot through the walls of stone before Merlin had turned his mind to the problem. He bolted down through the castle, forced to trace paths through passageways meant for humans rather than the straight line leading from his frightfully cold sigil to Arthur's…

Finally he turned the last bend and flew through the last door to find that his magic had led him to the training field. The grassy expanse stretched to his left and right with the banners of the competitors spaced evenly on its edge. Arthur stood with his crowd of followers looking quite all right. The same could not be said for a young squire.

"Merlin, perfect timing." Arthur either didn't notice or didn't care for Merlin's obvious shortness of breath. "This lad has been injured while trying to show off." He glanced at the squire and the boy flushed. "Can you take him to Gaius?"

Merlin's eyes darted between the squire's heavily bleeding arm and the scabbard that still hung sublimely from Arthur's hip. He wondered if the boy had noticed the magic when it had momentarily staunched the flow.

Regardless, he nodded and unwound his neckerchief. This wasn't a good year for his clothes. "Let's get it wrapped and I'll take you to the court physician."

He busied himself with the normal motions while Arthur prattled on about a few more things. When his friend finally had nothing else to do, he wished the squire well and moved off with the pack of warriors.

Merlin tied the final knot on the makeshift bandage. "Hold it tightly for now, and we'll get it stitched up as soon as possible." He gathered the bloodied sword from the ground and started the short trek with the boy in tow.

Mentally, he berated himself. He was really pushing it with his magic.

Fairly soon either someone would find out his secret, or he'd give himself a heart attack.

—

The second day was calmer, which sat very well with Merlin. With sixteen competitors this year, that meant eight bouts this first tournament day which kept the royal couple reclining pleasantly in their plush seats most of the daylight hours.

And if the royal couple was sitting here, that meant all Merlin had to do was stand nearby with a sweltering pitcher of diluted wine. It was practically a vacation.

Elyan had been the opening act and had made quick work of his opponent. Sir Brennis had followed shortly after with his own strong-armed rendition, his broken arm obviously fully healed after its unfortunate encounter with Percival. The third battle pitted a lesser Camelotian noble against a well-trained knight from the south, and had frankly been a bit embarrassing.

Merlin had found his attention wavering in that third bout, but was rapidly reeled back in with the announcement of the fourth round. It promised to be a good one that would keep the mutterings over the lunch break fully focused.

The first knight was a slender young man, decked from head to foot in leather guards. A too-large breastplate covered his chest and an ominous helmet covered his entire face. He clenched a sword in his right hand and an indigo shield of Nemeth in his right.

The mystery was intriguing enough, but it was the burnt orange cape of the opposition that brought him to full alert. As the cape unclasped from the knight's throat and fluttered like a pile of dead leaves to his feet, Merlin was immediately brought back to a day in Ealdor with a strange lord raising a sword against the glowering Alain…

"…Coming all the way from Essetir in the East, _Looord Urien!_ "

The crowd roared with its usual adrenaline, and Merlin stirred with his sudden bloodlust. Perhaps that should make him feel guilty, but Urien surely deserved a good whack with a sword—hopefully in the head, and hopefully it would hurt.

Lord Urien struck first with a powerful downward blow. He had tried to set the pace of the battle, but the knight jumped to the side and pushed most of the attack off with his shield.

Warily the knight circled round, lunging with tentative strikes that Urien easily batted away. He seemed more eager to test Urien for weaknesses than leap into a battle and trade blow for blow.

The crowd jeered louder with the growing tension, eagerly dividing their support between the two fighters. Emboldened, the knight ducked low and swung his sword at Urien's feet. The lord dodged easily, but the downward swipe of his retaliation unbalanced him. After a deft twist, the knight's sword caught the lip of Urien's shield and sent it skidding across the dirt.

A rush of sound swept the pitch as everyone hollered at once, and the knight jumped to block Urien from retrieving the shield. He swiped it further away with a foot.

Merlin grinned happily, feeling a mite evil for doing so. But, he was getting a circuitous revenge without any of the stress of watching Arthur fight against hidden magical snakes or glamoured thugs or other such dreary assassination attempts. _Really, how had Arthur ever survived before I got here?_

A collective gasp from the audience and the isolated shriek of a lady—Urien had dealt a two-handed blow to the knight whose sword had flipped from his hand, careening through the air towards them—no, towards _Gwen—_

Merlin moved a hand from the jug, stretched it out, unsure just what he thought he was going to do in front of half of Camelot—and Arthur yanked Excalibur from its sheath and batted the projectile to the ground with the weariest of motions. A titter than a whispery chuckle skittered from the crowd as Arthur re-sheathed his sword with a scowl. _Alright, so maybe Arthur deserved a tiny bit of the credit._

Urien looked up at the royals, but quickly decided that since no harm had been done, he would press his advantage without much pause. He hammered blows down on the knight's shield, and when the youth had been pushed to a knee Urien again swung a two-handed blow that tossed the shield to the side.

With a return swing he struck the Nemethian knight in the side, sending the young man sprawling. Merlin could see the dent in the breastplate from where he stood, and _ouch_ that had to hurt.

The tournament crier announced the end of the bout and the citizens cheered their newest victor. Urien strode to his shield and then held both it and his sword in the air for another round of catcalls.

In the meantime, no squire came out to assist the battered knight and the young man got to his feet, hunching over as he tried to press a hand to his surely aching side. "I'm going to check on him," Merlin said, and then glanced at Arthur and Gwen. "Do you need me for anything?"

Arthur shook his head. "We're dining with King Rodor and Princess Mithian in the Solar. I'd rather have a kitchen servant who won't trip over their own feet anyways."

"Just don't talk with your mouth full," Merlin retorted and set the wine down on the floor. Some other servant would take care of it.

Moving from the dais to the quickly crowding paths around the tournament grounds, Merlin wound his way to the entrance that lead straight from the pit to the training green. He saw the knight resting against a tall wooden post, fingers fumbling at the ties on the side of his breastplate.

"I'm the physician's assistant," he introduced, "I can help."

The man was silent, but turned to look at him through his visor. Eventually, he shook his head.

"At least let me—" Merlin bent forward to grab the knot holding the metal breastplate together, but the knight's hand shot out to hold him in place. Slowly Merlin put both hands in the air. "I get it, no touching."

The knight released him and collapsed back onto the pole, breathing shallowly and watching him carefully. Knowing this would get nowhere, Merlin turned and walked back to the pitch. The field was still emptying, the Nemethian sword and shield still lay untouched, and he hoisted the weaponry over his shoulder without anyone sparing him a glance.

When he had exited again the knight was nowhere to be seen. The stubbornness annoyed him, but it wasn't something he couldn't deal with. Arthur was having lunch with Rodor after all, and surely Nemeth's king would know who that knight was.

Merlin placed the sword and shield in Nemeth's allotted area of the training green, and decided to detour towards Gaius' chambers. He wanted to warn him about the injury. The other man would be forced into treatment, because Gaius wouldn't be happy until he'd lectured him.

He chuckled quietly and swept through the entrance to the servants stairwell of the East Tower. He nearly tripped over a lady's skirts.

"Princess Mithian?" Merlin startled.

The young woman was sitting on the lower steps clad in a thin dress, dark hair in disarray. She looked up at him with a wan face. "You're Merlin, right?"

He nodded, noticing she seemed out of breath.

"Will you help me?"

His blue eyes shone brightly in the dim. He did not flinch.

Mithian watched Arthur's manservant sinuously fold himself into a crouch before her. She remembered him vaguely—he had cared about Arthur, he had disapproved of their betrothal, he defended what he believed.

"Can I trust you to keep a secret?"

The servant looked at her strangely. But, as that thought crossed her mind she realized it was not exactly true. He had not been giddy to be talking to a princess. He had not balked at the task before him. He was confident, quiet, and capable. How rare. "Of course."

She only had to inch a hand for her ribcage for his face to sag with comprehension. She nearly expected him to tell her a tournament was no place for a woman, but of course he surprised her again.

"Is it broken?" He reached a hand out just like in the field, but this time paused. "Can I check?"

Mithian nodded stiffly and his fingertips closed the distance, ghosting over the painful bruise on her side. She winced and he drew back.

"It's too swollen to tell. We have to get you some ice." His brow furrowed and he turned away, thinking.

"Can you get into the ice house?" She hesitated, thinking that she didn't want to get him in trouble for helping her. "It will go down on its own."

He grinned at her austerity and enigmatically said, "I can get in anywhere." He stood again and held a hand out to her. "Can you climb?"

"Yes." She had pulled this dress over her head after all.

Though, they weren't even halfway up the staircase when even her shallow breaths became mind-numbingly painful. She wanted to clutch at her side but knew that would only aggravate the injury.

Merlin looked embarrassed, and a blush dusted his cheeks. "I can carry you," he offered.

She was tough, but she wasn't stupid. "Thank you," she agreed readily. Gritting her teeth, she carefully stretched an arm around his shoulders.

Merlin maneuvered an arm against her back and another beneath her knees and slowly brought her to horizontal. He didn't jostle her, but the position brought with it a new dull ache. "Not one is going to use this stairwell," he explained by way of apology. She thought it was unneeded. At this point, a small relief from the pain was worth a hundred years of gossip.

As he had said, though, they reached the physician's landing without incident. The hall was empty, and Merlin nudged the door open with an elbow.

"Gaius?" He called out to the room and gently set her back on her feet. The old physician didn't answer—perhaps busy with other injuries from the earlier bouts. She seemed relieved that they were alone. "You can trust him."

"The fewer people who know, the less of a chance word will get around," she said quietly, trying to use as little breath as possible.

Merlin moved away from her and cleared a few things off of the main table. "Sit here for a moment, and I'll be back with the ice."

Mithian nodded and Merlin left the chambers. With a hand still gingerly hovering over her ribs, she inched to the wooden table. Carefully she leaned her weight against the wood then tried to catch her breath. The short walk had winded her. Even normal breaths sent pain radiating from her side, and she struggled to avoid them.

She wished she remembered more about the man who was helping her now. He had been so aloof their first encounter. Though, in those scenarios she was busy courting—and being courted by—Arthur Pendragon. Arthur trusted him, and Arthur was a good man. Plus, her gut instinct told her Merlin deserved her attention.

Merlin returned then juggling a small block of ice between his hands. He grinned disarmingly. "Usually I have a cloth for these types of things, but my last neckerchief was ruined yesterday."

"That was quick," she said with surprise. Nemeth's icehouse was difficult to get to, though perhaps Camelot's was located nearer to the physician's chambers. It would only make sense.

"I had a lady waiting on me," he smiled again.

Gaius had many spare rags for him to dump the ice into, and she pressed the bundle to her side as he gathered a roll of bandages and scratched his head near the worktable. He mumbled a few things to himself as he thought through something, then appeared to find what he was looking for—a jar with a viscous gel.

He returned and set the gel and bandages on the table next to her. "How is it feeling now?"

"Cold," Mithian joked. More seriously she answered, "Less swollen, I think."

She set the cloth of dripping ice aside and started to cinch up the hem of her dress. A light dusting of red scattered over Merlin's cheekbones and he stuttered, "Uhm—"

"I'm still wearing the breeches," she explained with her own growing blush. He refused to meet her eyes.

Eventually she revealed the leather pants she had rolled to mid-calf and held her skirt up in her arms. It was only half a foot further to expose her side. Perhaps this leaned on inappropriate, but he had said he was Physician's Assistant as well, so…

Merlin cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes in a supreme attempt at professionalism. With all the fabric in her arms she couldn't see her ribs, but his serious expression made her worry. "Is it broken?"

"No I don't think so," he said finally. "There is a lot of bruising." He held up his hand and said, "I'm going to check, tell me when it hurts."

"It already hurts," she said stubbornly.

He puzzled for a moment then explained seriously, "It will feel like a deep ache or a sharp pain, depending."

For a few minutes Merlin nudged at one or two ribs, following their line to make sure they were whole. It hurt, but not suddenly. He appeared satisfied at the results as well.

"Bruised ribs aren't so dangerous. If you had been a real knight Gaius would have prescribed bedrest. But for you I'll just have to hope you don't mind acting the damsel for a few weeks."

"I could always fake an illness."

"And risk having another physician look you over? I doubt you'll do it."

She chuckled, then winced as the pain jarred her. "You already know me so well."

"You remind me of someone I used to know," he replied, the aloof tone returning. His eyes cast towards the jar on the table and he pulled it towards them. "This is a numbing salve made mostly of beeswax and clove oil. It should last you at least through lunch."

Mithian couldn't help her light sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Merlin hesitated a moment then seemed to shake himself. Gently he applied a thin coat to her bruised side and set the jar aside. "It will kick in soon," he said clinically. Now he gathered the bandages and started to roll them into a large loop between his right hand and elbow, eventually handing her the end. "Try not to move."

He bound the white strips of fabric tightly about her abdomen, and Mithian grit her teeth so fiercely she worried she had chipped them. When he had finished he tied a knot between his end of bandage and the one she had held.

Merlin heaved a sigh and landed back in his stool. At his nod she released her skirts, which settled back around her knees. "You won't tell, will you?"

He gave her a vexed expression. "It's a little late for that now, isn't it? But no, I won't." He shook his head and stood, offering his hand. "Now, we have to get you to Arthur's Solar or we really are going to be in trouble."

The pain began to recede, either due to the salve or the tight brace about her ribcage, and over time Mithian was able to fake a healthy step with more ease. While they walked Merlin explained how she must remove the bandages and breathe deeply as often as she could manage it—at the very least, once a day. He had seen knights get gravely ill for shirking the instruction.

Mithian nodded along until they reached a busier passageway, where her accomplice slipped ahead of her and led the way in sudden silence. He hadn't seemed the type to care about rank, but perhaps he cared about appearances. There were many guests wandering the corridors after all.

Regardless, she found herself alone with her thoughts. She spent the rest of the walk thinking of her mistakes in battle, the constant ache in her side, and the image of Merlin's back.

—

Princess Mithian and King Rodor politely bowed their head, and left he and Gwen alone after their luncheon.

Actually, Merlin was around somewhere too—holding the pitcher and likely napping against a wall.

Now that they had no guests, Arthur let himself lean back in his chair and release a great gust of air. A few knights were getting some last minute practice in before the afternoon, and Gwen was unfortunately helping the kitchen-maid clean the table. "Sit down, will you?"

Her laugh tinkled from above him and she swatted at his head. "I'm going to go congratulate Elyan," she said. "Are you coming with me?"

"In a minute," he yawned.

He heard his wife's steps leave the balcony and head down the stairs from the Solar. When he knew she was gone, a wicked grin grew across his face. Savoring the moment, Arthur stood slowly and pushed in his chair before genteelly returning to the indoors. Merlin was indeed resting distractedly against a cabinet.

"I noticed you arrived with the missing Princess this afternoon."

"She was missing?" Merlin replied dumbly.

"She even looked flushed and in disarray when she arrived. In fact, I thought I saw your arm around her on your way up the stair—"

Merlin blanched comically. "What are you accusing me of?" He held up the pitcher like a shield. "I ran into her in the hallway, if you must know. I really have no idea where she was or why she was late or whether or not she was out of breath—" By now Merlin was backing away towards the exit. Arthur watched him unknowingly veer diagonally, still rambling to fill the silence. "I haven't spent any time with her, not a single minute—" Merlin continued, even his own eyes blown wide in astonishment at the words coming out of his mouth.

Arthur's obvious amusement did nothing to help his fluster, and he spun quickly on the spot and slammed bodily into the wall to the right of the doorway. Merlin laughed desperately then jetted for the stairway.

A full smile crept along Arthur's face and he felt the tension in his neck subside as he relaxed, thoroughly amused at his manservant's ineptitude. _Ah, the small pleasures in life._

—

The next morning was filled with the second round of battles. Elyan and Urien advanced, as well as a strong-armed villager from eastern Camelot and a knight from Northumbria. The rest of the afternoon was left open to let the losers lick their wounds and the winners rest before the semifinals.

Elyan had broken a finger on his left hand after taking a bash from Brennis' shield, and Merlin was returning from the physician's chambers where Gaius had been bandaging the knight. Gwen planned to modify Elyan's shield before tomorrow so he could hold it firmly without pain, and Percival had offered to help her, as the Queen couldn't truly be seen wielding forge tools despite the common knowledge of her past.

Lost in these thoughts, Merlin hardly paid attention to his surroundings as he hurried past the training green with Elyan's shield. When a heavyset noble paused to watch the foreign fighters Merlin jumped swiftly to the side, unfortunately colliding bodily with a short squire. Armor spilled everywhere as both men stumbled on their feet.

"Ah, sorry—" Merlin apologized and had bent halfway down to assist with the cleanup when a voice stopped him.

"Why is it that your face annoys me?" A hand clenched around Merlin's shoulder and shoved him the rest of the way to his knees. "I recognize you now, when you're on the ground at my feet."

The snide, deadly voice coming from over his shoulder could be no other than the dangerous lord of Essetir—Urien. The squire ducked his head and gathered the armor with wide eyes, hoping not to be noticed. Wisely, Merlin said nothing.

Lord Urien walked forward, burnt orange cape billowing, until he stood before Merlin. "I'm surprised to find you so far from your home. How's your father faring without you?"

Merlin glared blackly at the man's kneecaps. "What do you care?"

The strike came suddenly, whipping his head to the side. His cheek burned and his jaw ached. His ears rang either from the blow or from the rage creeping up his spine. _I'll kill him—_

Then he looked up and saw Gwaine gaping at him.

It was enough to sober him, and he shut his eyes and relaxed into a neutral expression through sheer force of will. Urien had one more thing to say before striding off, "I see you inherited that idiotic mouth."

Gwaine was upon them then, but Merlin grasped his friend's wrist as the Lord moved further away. He plastered on a smile, though it probably came off as a grimace, and picked up Elyan's shield from the ground. "Just let it go."

"I'm not letting that go!" Gwaine raved, yanking his wrist away.

Merlin got to his feet and dusted off his breeches. "Elyan will trounce him tomorrow; it's all the revenge I need."

"You are too forgiving," Gwaine snarled, still staring fiercely after the disappearing competitor.

"Hmm," was Merlin's only response.

Gwaine remained livid even as Merlin pushed him in the opposite direction, leading them to Elyan's hut in the lower town. His friend plastered on increasingly goofier grins that did nothing to dissuade Gwaine's temper, because he could clearly see where Merlin's cheek had been sliced open. "I'm taking Elyan's place in the tournament. I'm going to kill that bastard."

Merlin gave him an overly amused look. "That's excessive."

"Don't take abuse from that bleeding cunt of a noble!"

"Gwaine," Merlin sighed. He gestured for him to wait outside and entered the blacksmith hut with the shield. A conversation occurred within that Gwaine was too angry to care about. When Merlin returned he had on his usual good-natured smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Instead, the blue watched him worriedly. "Don't get yourself in trouble over this. Elyan will beat him, and he'll go back to Essetir with his tail between his legs."

"He better," Gwaine growled threateningly. Merlin only heaved another sigh and threw an arm around his shoulders.

"Didn't you and I have plans to do some secret training sometime this week?" Merlin moved them away, still grinning sunnily and also waving a practice sword in the air. "Let's go check out that clearing I told you about."

Currently Gwaine had no interest in learning to fight with his left hand. He wanted to go find that lord and throw a gauntlet down.

Merlin had obviously picked up on this, and perhaps this was why Merlin was going through such Herculean efforts to keep him within line of sight.

For his friend's sake, Gwaine tried to push the vengeance away, succeeding only in suppressing it to be dealt with later. Merlin kept up a steady stream of innocuous chatter. Gwaine only stared at him, faking participation.

Because, as the ire began to fade, and as he studied his friend's benign expression, he couldn't help but compare it with the burning man he'd seen on his knees in the dirt. That man was someone he'd never met before.

It was a man whom had struck fear into his own heart.

—

The clearing was a short walk from the city's walls, and you could see the rise of the castle on its hill from the grassy field. He and Merlin spent most of the afternoon accidentally smacking each other's fingers with their swords until red welts rose up on their knuckles.

Merlin had tumbled to the ground so many times with such terrible coordination that Gwaine had started to doubt what he'd seen in the training green. When Merlin's wooden sword slipped from his fingers during his most recent swing, and flew to smack into Gwaine's chest, Gwaine gave up the goose.

"I think this is enough practice for an afternoon."

"Finally!" Merlin collapsed onto his back in the field and then laughed at the sky. "I'm terrible with a sword. At this rate you'll be able to fight left-handed when you're Gaius' age!"

"Eh, you're not so bad," Gwaine chuckled. "My left arm feels like jelly. I'm going to have to build up some muscle."

Merlin brought his hand up before his eyes and studied the wounds on his joints disinterestedly. His arm flopped back into the grass. "What's your opinion on naps?"

In a much better mood, both friends made their way back to Camelot talking of everything from Gwaine's newest flirtation to Merlin's more recent plans to embarrass Arthur. In tacit agreement the tournament and its competitors were not mentioned.

They were just discussing Merlin's unfortunate knowledge of Arthur's sex life when the man in question accosted them at the front gate. Apparently he had been standing there, arms crossed, for a while now.

"Where did you two disappear to?"

Merlin chuckled nervously. "Er, nowhere?"

Arthur looked thunderous. "Would you like to hear what rumors I've been privy to this afternoon?"

"Not really, no." Gwaine responded flippantly.

Arthur glared at them both. He looked like he was waiting for Merlin to explain, but the man just stood there with a sheepish expression. Finally Arthur burst, pointing a rigid finger at Merlin's cut cheek. "Explain that."

"It's just a scratch I got while sorting through things in the armory."

Arthur almost succeeded in not scoffing. "What were you doing there?"

"…Not looking for practice swords?" He lied lamely. At Gwaine's wounded and Arthur's skeptical expression he modified. "Polishing…I was definitely polishing armor."

"When I went by Gaius' chambers Princess Mithian was there, waiting for you. Now, why were you polishing armor when you clearly had plans to meet with her?"

"Uh…" Merlin said as Arthur glowered. "I forgot? Then I remembered she was feeling ill so I ran out to gather herbs. For a tonic."

"And where is your bag?" Merlin parroted 'bag?' and Arthur gestured at Merlin's attire. "To keep herbs in?" He drawled.

"Right." Merlin patted his empty pocket awkwardly. "They're in here." He hoped Arthur wouldn't call his bluff. He did.

"Your pockets are empty."

"What?" Merlin patted the pockets again. "They must have fallen out! Should have brought the bag." He tried to paste on a rueful expression.

"Gaius said you were at the tavern."

Gwaine barked a laugh and Merlin cursed, affronted. "I was certainly not at the tavern. He is trying to get me in trouble."

"I spoke with Lord Urien as well," _Arthur really chose the wrong week to not be oblivious,_ Merlin groused. "I had heard there was a _confrontation_?"

Gwaine's expression was darkening, but luckily Arthur's attention was focused solely on his manservant. Merlin said nothing.

"He said, and I quote, that you _and your father_ have a penchant for disregarding rank. Ringing any bells?"

"He is the lord over Ealdor and the surrounding villages," Merlin explained, happy to tell the truth finally. "We met after Ostara."

Gwaine and Merlin looked to him, and Arthur felt himself prickle. He couldn't pinpoint what precisely in this entire nonsense story was making him the angriest. Though, at the moment, he was trying to wait patiently for Merlin to explain why Urien knew of his long lost father and _he_ didn't.

Merlin was not forthcoming, and Arthur thought explosively _Why should I even care?_ It's not like he had actually asked Merlin to stick around after his own father's death. Sitting in the hallway all night was just a sappy Merlin thing to do. Arthur had more important things to occupy his time.

"What's actually bothering you, Arthur? You look frustrated."

"This is my resting face," he snapped.

Merlin grumbled under his breath. "Don't I know it."

Arthur made a slicing motion with his hand and cut off Merlin's impending diatribe with his own.

"Let me get this straight," Arthur began acidly. "Mithian has been feeling ill, which is why she was late to lunch yesterday. But, as I recall, you 'have not spent time with her' and don't know where she was." Arthur started to glare at Merlin's blank smile. "Yet you astonishingly made an appointment with her for this afternoon without seeing or speaking to her. You also suddenly knew to gather herbs which you have lost, coincidentally running into Gwaine who is carrying two swords, neither of which cut you, because you spent the afternoon polishing my armor in the armory. Though it occurs to me that my armor is in my chambers."

"That's because I put it there." _Ooh, I have a headache._

—

Arthur waited impatiently for the semifinals to complete. Elyan won his battle against Urien, the lord from Essetir— _Merlin's_ lord! Even more astounding, a man who apparently knew Merlin's father!

Arthur had grumbled to himself the entire time. Guinevere had tried to make conversation and failed miserably.

The fourth son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria won the second bout. Arthur had fought his elder brother a few years ago in a former tournament. Younger sons were always trying to make a name for themselves in tournaments like these. He fought well, from what Arthur noticed between distractions. He was also a legitimate heir of Lord Eldred's, unlike Lancelot. Yet, even thoughts of the honorable knight and his subsequent betrayal could not pull his focus.

After all, Merlin was conspicuously missing from the morning festivities.

When the semifinal victors were named and the lunch break called, Arthur leapt to his feet with barely a glance at Guinevere. He was going to get to the bottom of this—and when Arthur was on a mission, he did not fail.

The king stomped his thundercloud all the way back to the castle, and stormed up the East Tower's staircase—planning precisely how he would not let Merlin escape him. Princess Mithian was ill, his arse. Merlin innocently spending a day polishing armor and collecting herbs—yeah, sure!

Arthur banged open Gaius' chambers to find them empty. He almost felt disappointed. He had been sure Merlin would be here, and his rage would have a target to be thrown at.

In his brief sulk, Arthur heard a feminine grunt come from deeper in the room. From his vantage point the only area invisible to him was hidden behind Merlin's closed bedroom door.

His former anger paled in comparison to the rage he felt now. Red fury crept up his neck and inflamed his temple. _If that's Mithian—_

Arthur's fist collided with the thin wooden door and it swung inward with a bang. " _Merlin_!" He roared.

Well, he had been half right. It was Mithian, but it was not Merlin. He saw her wide eyes, a flash of her stomach, and then Gaius had stood to block his view. "Sire!"

"Pardon," Arthur choked and slammed the door in his own face.

Still red, yet now from mind-numbing embarrassment, he turned on his heel and walked away.

—

A day after the tournament ended the round table met again. Arthur had previously planned it so everyone could share information picked up through the visitors. He regretted that now.

Even studiously glaring at the wooden grain at the center of the table, he could feel Gaius' eyes on him.

During his efforts to be invisible Guinevere spoke up. "Elyan did wonderful; I'm so proud of you, brother." She smiled warmly.

"Thanks, Gwen," he responded with a blush.

"I admit I was caught up with the tournament," she continued. "I did not pay much attention to much else. Anything interesting happen?"

Most spoke simultaneously, and a chorus of: "No" "Pretty boring week, actually" "Nothing worth mentioning" sprang up around the table. Gaius said nothing; thank spirits. Merlin, once again, got away scot-free.

And Arthur was happy to let him if it meant the conversation steered away from Mithian. He cleared his throat. "Same here. Now, moving on—"

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) The halfpenny sigil is explained in Ch.1.  
(2) The Tournament of Camelot is held once a year. Ref: Series 1 Episode 2.  
(3) Sir Brennis Pelham, we meet him in Ch. 3 and Ch.13.  
(4) In this story, the color of Nemeth is indigo (a dark purple).  
(5) Lord Urien from Ch. 2.  
(6) Icehouses aren't new to Europe, but they may not have existed in England at this time. Again, #ArtisticLicense. Merlin didn't go to the icehouse though. He conjured the ice in the hallway and then waited around to make it seem believable ;)  
(7) You can get pneumonia if you don't breathe deeply for a long period of time.

 **Author's Note:**

Apparently this chapter is the first time I wrote 'Pendragon'. I had to add it to my computer dictionary.

Arthur didn't see what happened between Urien and Merlin; he heard about it through word of mouth. He was appropriately angry as well. However, without confirmation from Merlin or Gwaine there isn't much he can do. Elyan trounced Urien thoroughly and it was a perfect revenge. I didn't write it. This chapter was already too long. But, if enough people really want to read it I can make it a mini chapter sometime later.

Not much magic this chapter -_-

And continuing the tropes... could you call this whump?

 **Next time** : Just Shy of Waterboarding. Merlin, Arthur, and the training pitch.


	20. Just Shy of Waterboarding

— RIP Prince

 **Just Shy of Waterboarding**

 _The Ides of July (July 8-15)_

" _Oof_ ," Merlin let go of the punching bag and pressed a hand to his chest. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I'm not falling for that."

"Too bad," Merlin gasped, or tried to. Only a bit of the words made it out of his throat as he tried to get air back into his lungs. Arthur had hit the bag at an odd angle.

He hardly noticed Arthur pace away, caught up as he was with dying of suffocation, and so the target flying at his face a few seconds later nearly leveled him. Arthur said something snooty but Merlin's ears didn't care to translate prat into the common tongue.

The midafternoon heat had scattered most squires, the knights busy with their duties, so the king and his manservant had the training green mostly to themselves. This was unfortunate because without the distraction of others to train, Arthur hadn't let up in hours. However, a lack of bystanders meant Merlin could say what he willed.

He intentionally dropped the target on the ground. "Just because Elyan is the new champion of Camelot doesn't mean you aren't the best warrior in the kingdom."

"This is general training. I don't need to prove anything." Arthur hefted a sharpened spear and bounced it in his hand.

"Glad you agree with me. Time for a break then?"

"Pick up the target, Merlin."

Merlin sighed and made a show of heaving it onto his shoulders. The circular board attached to leather straps that dug into his skin, but the target covered the wide expanse of his back. Arthur made a shooing gesture with his wrist.

He wove through the open areas of the training green, jogging carefully until the _thwack_ drove home and made him stumble. He glared at Arthur over his shoulder. If he didn't know better, Arthur was intentionally trying to torture him.

Arthur, however, was in a better mood now. He called to him across the field. "Merlin, you're flashing a bit of collarbone. It's unlike you."

He grumbled something in return and felt another spear collide with the target. Gwaine and that squire ruined his neckerchiefs. He had just received another three pennies at Midsummer but he balked at the idea of spending even more of his salary on fabric…

Another _thunk_ nearer the top of the target, and Merlin called back, "Watch it!"

"I never miss!" Arthur shouted back.

 _"Oh really?"_ This was an opportune moment for a sudden breeze to push the weapon off course. But, after rationality kicked in he thought better of it. The spear hit right on target and Arthur called to him smugly.

"You were saying?"

Ugh. He put on a burst of speed and the next spear clipped the edge of the target and only barely caught. He turned and smirked at Arthur.

"You shouldn't wear red on training days, Merlin." Arthur said. "Someone might mistake you for a bull's-eye."

Arthur pretended to aim for his heart with the next spear, and Merlin flipped the target to protect his chest. "Throw that and see what I'll do to you."

Arthur laughed and picked up his sword, coming closer while swinging it in the circular motion he associated with warming up.

When he swung Merlin bobbed away with the target. "You're getting slower, old man."

"Pick up a sword and say that to me," Arthur sniped.

Merlin traded the target for a shield and happily held that in front of himself. It would be much easier to block Arthur with this. "I think you're spending too much time sitting on your throne."

Arthur followed with three mighty blasts of his sword that left Merlin's muscles jittering, but he held fast. "Delegating tasks is an important part of being a king," Arthur argued, likely for argument's sake. Merlin knew Arthur was feeling bored—hence the attacks on his loyal manservant.

"Let's get out of Camelot for a bit. Has Queen Annis answered you yet?"

"No," Arthur frowned. "Besides, I'm still arguing details with the council over Iseldir moving the camp within our borders. I don't think I could stand another political headache at the moment."

"How is Iseldir?"

Arthur faltered, looked suspicious, shook it off. "Dunno."

They trained in silence for a few minutes—Arthur's swings trying to de-shield Merlin while the servant evaded him. He had plenty of practice against Arthur's tactics.

"Are you regretting the peace-talks?"

Arthur scowled—his thinking expression—and the next few strikes were harder than usual. Then he said plainly, "No."

"You're being quiet," Merlin informed him, then braced the shield against his shoulder as Arthur picked up the pace.

"You're the girl who can't keep her mouth shut," Arthur grunted.

Merlin twisted the shield and knocked Excalibur to the side. "You know you like it."

Instead of rising to the bait Arthur thrust his sword forward and, in the midst of his attack, blurted, "Did you see the gift they gave us?"

Merlin almost dropped the shield. "No, you never showed me," he replied nervously.

"It was a ring," Arthur snorted and Merlin scowled from behind the shield. Because of that, he almost didn't catch Arthur's thoughtful look. "It's definitely magic."

He tried not to sound too—just too anything. "Does it bother you?"

"I don't know." Arthur whispered. Or, Merlin's pulse was just thundering in his ears.

Though, during his next round of swings, Arthur spoke firmly and washed away his hopefulness with a harshness that came only from ignorance.

"Magic, and magical gifts, have no place in Camelot. I should have destroyed it after Iseldir left."

Was that his heart being carved out of his chest? Because that's what it felt like. The one piece of Freya he had left, and it was at the mercy of Arthur, the Council, and a city trained to hate anything of magic.

Even worse, if you considered the freedom of a race of people worse than the death of the love of his life, Arthur's stance on magic had not changed in these many years. Whatever hope he'd gained after the peace with the Druids shriveled.

Quietly, Merlin said, "That could be dangerous. Just leave it in the vaults."

"At least it's away from enemy hands," Arthur conceded. "Besides, Iseldir might want it back in the future." Arthur tricked him with a kick and sent the shield flying across the green, then waited patiently for Merlin to return with it. "I've realized something."

"And what is that?" Merlin asked. He winced at the rudeness lacing his words, but Arthur was too preoccupied to notice.

"I know how to sneak into Alined and Odin's lands without their notice."

Arthur was staring wide-eyed at the blades of grass at his feet, and his sword hung slack in his hand. Merlin was just as surprised. Unfortunately, what came out of his mouth was, "So we aren't building a raft?"

Arthur gave him that look that said I really worry about your sanity, but launched into his explanation. The more he spoke, the more pleased he became. "I was thinking how the Druids had been trading with Camelot for years without our notice and I realized…that's the perfect cover." He grinned. " _They_ are the perfect cover."

"This is why I write your speeches," Merlin interjected dryly. "You're insensible."

"Don't blame me when politics go over your head," Arthur responded with a laugh. "During the talks we tried to settle their new trade routes. Grenfell wants them only to trade with Camelot, but Iseldir didn't want to be gouged…though I don't care to repeat the finer details. In the end, I couldn't promise safe travel to Alined or Odin's lands because I can't force the opinion of other kingdoms."

"Your idiotic manservant still needs more explanation."

"Everything I say isn't an insult to you, Merlin." Arthur said. "But I'll say this clearly, so you can understand. We'll tell the druids we're acting as guards on a trial route, and we'll use whatever story the druids come up with while on the road. They're the true masters at staying invisible after all."

"You're certainly delighted with yourself," Merlin frowned. "I doubt you care that you're putting them in danger?"

"It's an equivalent trade, Merlin. Iseldir will go for it. Just don't blab the details around everywhere, apparently there is a—" Arthur froze, and this time when the suspicion came across his face, it remained. _There's a Druid spy in Camelot._

"There's a what?"

"It's old news," Arthur replied stiffly. "Pick up the shield already, or did you think we were going to stand here all day?"

Slowly Merlin raised the shield back into position, hating that he felt so clueless about what was going through his friend's mind.

Arthur attacked with scarcely a warning, and it took all of Merlin's concentration to keep hold of the tiny strip of metal on the back of the shield. This wasn't a bored Arthur who was tired of sitting around playing king, this was something else, and it was focused on him.

With all the events of the past few weeks, Arthur hadn't had the time to work through the suspicions unfortunately building in his mind. Merlin had been his friend from the start—before anyone, there had been the smart-mouthed peasant in the market who went on to save his life. Who died for him. But then there had been stories of his friend helping Forridel escape Camelot, and the strange kinship he had with Iseldir, and whatever had gone on during the tournament, not to mention Merlin's father returning to Ealdor according to Lord Urien…

A part of him felt there were reasonable explanations for everything. But, another fraction of his mind couldn't let go of the doubt. After all these years, he should trust Merlin unequivocally. He thought he had. However, in brief moments he had believed Merlin capable of a secret life. And now that the seed was there, it was stuck, and it festered.

He couldn't shake this feeling that he didn't know who his best friend really was.

The tip of Excalibur caught the edge of the shield, and his violent blow swung the shield wide, though Merlin was able to keep hold of it. But when Merlin was there, bare-chested before him, he pointed the sword at his neck.

"You would tell me if you met your father, right?"

"What?" Merlin's mind skittered over their conversation and any recent memory within reach. "Hypothetically? Because, I mean, I definitely haven't met him yet—"

"Just answer the question."

Arthur's voice was tight and demanding, and as much as he wanted to read Arthur's expression, he was too afraid he wouldn't be able to hide his own fears. So he raised the shield before his face, pretending to brace for impact. "Of course I would, Arthur."

Three steps away, Arthur scowled at his concealed friend —no, his evasive manservant.

He had known Merlin long enough to recognize a guilty timbre when he heard it.

Arthur tossed Excalibur on the ground in a burst of anger, and stared at the shield, trapped in imagining what Merlin was hiding behind it. Somehow, his voice came out controlled. "I think we're done for the day."

Knowing that whatever accusations he wanted to let fly would sound ridiculous without proof, Arthur grit his teeth and strode past Merlin, who was still hiding from him like a child. Only his periphery caught the unreadable expression in the blue of Merlin's eyes. Apology, a piece of Arthur registered. Or pity. It only tightened the vice in his chest.

"Pick all this up."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

Thank you to my muse and friend, Jewelsmg, for inspiring me, and my new beta Linorien for keeping me on my toes! This chapter makes sense because of her. And of course, thanks for all the reviews, I love you all. Will be PMing everyone so look out for that.

So, I know this is a short one, sorry, but I had major writer's block for awhile. Luckily that's done with and I know exactly where I'm heading now. Part 1 will be done in 8 chapters! That's way shorter than I first expected, but now I know it's needed. Tournament Arc is over and we'll have a bit of a traveling arc and then get right into the finale arc.

I may do another Reader's choice at 10,000 views, and I'm at 8900 now, and I got two requests for Urien v Elyan so that may happen. Any other requests?

We'll see the Druids again next chapter. Arthur was his usual dramatic self this time. He might come around.

 **Next time** : Surprise! It's a Love Story.


	21. Surprise! It's a Love Story

—

 **Surprise! It's a Love Story**  
 _The Kalends of August (July 16-31)_

Arthur hadn't spoken to him in days. At least, nothing beyond simple orders and shallow smiles. His aloofness had been subtle, so subtle that the others hadn't noticed, but it had tightened like a vice around his chest every successive day.

Then, the weather began to sweeten, and Arthur started to come around—slowly, as was his way. They never discussed their thoughts—they never did—and one day, with the plans of the journey ahead of them coalescing, Arthur had turned to him with a grin and Merlin could almost imagine whatever transgressions he had done to Arthur were forgotten.

The morning of their departure, while the breeze blew cool and lilting through Merlin's small window, the king banged his way into the physician's chambers and hit one gloved hand against Merlin's closed door. Gaius' shout of 'Sire!' did little to stop him. "I need a peasant shirt!"

Merlin rolled into a sitting position, and was still yawning and kneading at a knot of muscle on his bare shoulder when Arthur burst in without further notification. "How much spare clothing do you think I have? Ask one of the knights."

Arthur was already rifling through Merlin's grand total of three shirts. "This is it? What do I pay you for?"

"Not to clothe _you_."

Arthur huffed and turned about to exit as swiftly as he came. "Well get up already. Honestly you must be the laziest—"

The king's voice was harder to hear as he moved out of the room and back out into the castle still berating Merlin. Though, Merlin noted bemusedly, the scolding was without Arthur's usual bite. His friend's broad grin hadn't been lost on him either, despite whatever falsification Arthur felt like exuding. Arthur was excited to have a mission, and to take a break from the daily demands of being royalty.

Merlin chose a relatively clean tunic and tugged on his boots. He looked around for his neckerchief only to once again remember he didn't have any. This was becoming a bother.

When he exited his room and clomped down the stairs, Gaius looked up at him from his position on their single table. The elder physician was sipping on some lukewarm tea, and one of his hands was folded over their herb satchel. "I added a vial of undiluted balsamic tincture for blisters."

"My feet are already thanking you."

Gaius sighed. "Be careful, my boy."

"I always am."

Merlin loped through the castle grounds—other servants and nobles had already begun their day and the usual morning crowd would be upon them soon. He skirted the more popular routes until he met the others, minus Leon, at the stables. Gwaine tossed him a roll of bread.

They had all packed light, but they would still be taking the horses down to Iseldir's new camp. Surprisingly the horses had already been saddled, but perhaps a stablehand had been available early this morning. Merlin looked about for whom it was to thank them—Arthur surely wouldn't think to—but he found no one. Confusedly he pointed at his horse's saddle. "Who…"

"It was Princess," Gwaine whispered loudly. His exaggerated shock made the others chuckle from atop their horses, and Merlin played along.

"I better double-check then."

Arthur was unamused, and kicked at his head from the saddle.

Anemos' harness had been impeccably applied of course, Arthur wasn't a complete goon, and Merlin was just mounting the gelding when Leon finally arrived. The eldest knight bound his bedroll to his own horse while he reported the final details of the guard's orders.

And then, finally, they were off.

* * *

Since the days of the peace treaty, a few developments had occurred between Camelot and the old, destroyed camp. With regular patrols, and the promises of trade, an established trail had written its way into the forest, and the horses made short work of the distance.

By mid-afternoon the party drew close, he could tell through the faint stirrings of magic, and the thoughts that had worried through Merlin's brain finally roared to the forefront.

His first priority was always to Arthur and Camelot's safety. However, he had a responsibility to not let this fragile peace fracture through a fault of Arthur or an angry Druid. He had seen enough horrible results come from misunderstandings, and if he could prevent that today, he would.

Merlin reached out with his magic, throwing his mental voice out to Iseldir.

" _Emrys_ ," the elder responded. _"What brings the king?"_

" _We are tracking Morgana in the south. He's going to use your merchants as a cover story."_

Iseldir was quiet for a moment, a feeling of distraction and rapidly running thoughts brushed through their mental link, and Merlin physically reclined back in his saddle. He hadn't quite gotten used to that aspect of magic yet. _"I appreciate you giving me advance warning. I must discuss this with the others._ "

Iseldir cut their connection, and a cold wall sprung between them. Merlin shied away until he was fully returned to his immediate surroundings, and picked up on the conversation between Leon and Arthur on navigation of the trail. The flatlands of Albion fell to rocky outcroppings and unstable earth, and it took more effort for the knights to traverse the thinning paths.

The high walls surrounding the area kept the clearing for the camp hidden well. For this reason, they did not catch sight of the divot in the forest until they walked upon it.

Whatever Merlin had expected it to be, this was not it. In a moment his eyes took in the sweeping terrain, and he ached for wondering if this was how it was meant to be.

At the camp's center was a wide stone circle with crafted wooden benches to sit upon. Paths radiated from this center like a starburst, dividing the clearing into individual segments that disappeared into the trees around them. Some of these trees had symbols carved in their trunks, marking them to be cut down in the near future.

Not tents, but long angled structures were being built in one section, wooden beams notching together into a point at their peak. Cloth had begun to cover the walls of one, but Merlin suspected even that was not the final product of their efforts. Iseldir stood near the hut, but when the knights appeared on the edges of the camp, the elder began to pace towards them.

Merlin then hit upon the lack of people. There were only a handful of druids within sight, yet he distinctly remembered feeling the bustle through his connection with Iseldir.

Before he could muse the strangeness further, Iseldir reached them. "King Arthur, we did not expect to receive you so soon. I'm afraid we don't have much to show."

"I don't agree," Arthur said with his own awe. "I've never seen a druid camp like this."

Demurely, Iseldir replied. "I suppose it would have been before your time."

Arthur shook himself at that, and swung himself off the horse after handing the reins to Merlin. "I have something delicate to ask you. Can we speak in private?"

Iseldir bowed his head deferentially and both men moved off. The knights were already talking amongst themselves, and Percival led them to a place to tie up the horses.

"Sir Elyan?" A voice called, and all the men turned. A dark-skinned youth was smiling at them, and when Elyan grinned in recognition, the teenager waved excitedly.

The knight moved forward and clasped the kid on the shoulder. "This is Aglain." He gestured to his lesser-known companions. "Aglain, this is Leon, and that's Merlin."

"And who is that?" Leon said. The group followed the head knight's cast eyes towards a blonde woman standing a distance away. She had her hands propped on her hips and was quite obviously appraising them.

" _Emrys, don't let them into the main residence."_ Iseldir's voice surprised him, and Merlin stumbled with the horses' ties. When he organized himself he responded with a short affirmative.

By then the woman had approached and Merlin vaguely recognized her. Her blonde hair was tied into an intricate braid and pinned upon her head, and she wore an old red dress threadbare from years of travel. She had said something that made the usually controlled Leon blush hotly.

Now that Merlin was paying attention, the woman turned towards him. Proudly, she said, "We never properly met. I am Forridel of Camelot."

"Merlin of Ealdor," he responded with an obvious question in his voice. He still couldn't quite place her. She was from Camelot?

"I believe we will be traveling together shortly. I sell animal pelts, and I'd like to see the market for them in Deorham."

"Are there any other merchants around?" Gwaine asked, not caring to be subtle.

"They haven't arrived yet," she said shortly.

Merlin could read the lie plain as day, but the others seemed to buy it. In their defense he had a few other facts at his fingertips. For example, only he had the clue that the missing merchants were probably hiding in that building half a field away.

Iseldir's voice sprung from the ether again. _"Your king has told the truth."_ Merlin let out a breath of relief, and then hid it behind a badly timed cough. _"You are certain Forridel is not required for any other dangerous plots?"_

 _"The knights are too chivalrous for that. She is just our key to the city._ "

Iseldir seemed to accept this, and his presence faded away again. Merlin had again missed part of the conversation happening in front of his eyes, but his quick thinking caught him up quickly. Elyan had removed a folded cloth from his pack, and within were sewed pockets with long, thin blades within. Some did not have their wooden handles yet.

"—sell these," Elyan finished.

Gwaine peered over the other knight's shoulder and plucked a knife from the assortment. "So this is what you do instead of coming to the tavern with me?"

"These are years old," Elyan explained. "I used to make and sell them while on the road. I thought I'd grab them just in case." He pulled the blade from Gwaine and put it back where it belonged. Gwaine pouted.

"I want to come with you," the boy said.

"Certainly not. The road is not for a youth like you."

"But it makes sense," the boy argued. "We could be brothers. I've been practicing the wood carving too."

"I think this is a decision we should leave to Iseldir," Leon interjected, calming the squabble before it became anything to regret.

 _"This boy wants to come with us; have you discussed the details with him?"_ Merlin ventured, hoping not to disrupt Iseldir in anything too important.

" _He knows the dangers, and I cannot stop him. He has taken a liking to Sir Elyan._ " Iseldir responded mentally.

From behind him, Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin turned in surprise. He hadn't noticed their approach. Arthur brushed past him to greet Forridel, and Iseldir's mouth twitched in the subtlest of smirks at Merlin's expense.

Aloud, the Druid Elder said, "Aglain does a great service to the druids by testing the possibility of trade with Cornwall." Silently he continued, _"Emrys, your warning has avoided much embarrassment for the druids and for your king_. _I thank you_."

 _"It was nothing,_ " Merlin responded, a mite embarrassed. Iseldir had handled everything so swiftly, and had remained so serene, that he had felt more on the side of useless and certainly not worthy of praise. Though, when Aglain's eyes weren't focused on Elyan, they were studying Merlin with unabashed intrigue, and Merlin hoped that none else had noticed.

Aglain's eyes glassed over and Merlin took that to mean Iseldir was sending him last minute instructions. Forridel noticed the subtle change as well, and when Aglain's eyes cleared she spoke suddenly. "Let's not dally. I'll gather my things and then we can move onward."

"Do you require help?" Leon asked chivalrously, only to be denied with a sharp 'No' as she disappeared into the covered structure.

A sly grin grew across Gwaine's rough features, and he slung an arm around Leon's broad shoulders. "If you're trying to get back into the game, I've got some tips."

* * *

With the beginnings of a plan agreed upon, Forridel making round trips to drop pelts at their feet, and Aglain run off to retrieve his few things, an opportune moment arose for Iseldir to give them a short tour of the camp. Amusingly (for Merlin at least, due to the sight of the knights shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot), that offer never came. Instead Iseldir penned them in, looking guileless all the while.

Arthur began separating the pelts between the packs of all the men, roping the others into helping him tie them into place. While the king was thusly occupied, Merlin tried to subtly raise an eyebrow at the Druid Elder. _"Is everyone really in that hut? It's strangely quiet."_

 _"Yes, some are there. Most are in Essetir, and the rest are underground."_

Merlin puzzled at the terminology, wondering if Iseldir meant they were in hiding elsewhere. Mentally he sighed. Too much of his life was spent decoding riddles. _"Did you mean that literally?"_

A ghost of a smile touched the elder's lips. " _Yes._ "

Alright, so it wasn't a riddle. But it was certainly strange. Before he could get to the bottom of it, however, an elbow dug into his side. "Did you hear any of that?"

Merlin looked over and saw that it was Percival who had nudged him. That explained why he felt a desire to clutch at his side and complain like a girl. "Head was in the clouds," Merlin apologized.

"You were 'talking' with Iseldir, weren't you?" Gwaine joked. "I can tell when the Druids are doing that mind reading thing."

"What?" Merlin panicked. How much did Gwaine know?!

Percival only chuckled, and Arthur sighed long-sufferingly as if he had heard this all before. "There is no such thing as mind-reading, Gwaine!"

For quite possibly the hundreth time, Merlin wondered just what had happened that one week with the Druids. _"Tell me you at least didn't tell them the prophecy on Emrys."_

Iseldir laughed, and luckily it blended well with the current conversation. _"No, Emrys, but I'd be happy to._ "

 _"Please don't,"_ Merlin griped. _"Not yet."_

 _"Your friend has only accidentally hit on the truth; he certainly doesn't know of this magical ability."_ Iseldir turned away, still hiding a smile, and Merlin automatically turned to follow. _"Allow me to show you what I mean by 'underground'."_

"Where are you going?"

Merlin spun back around quickly at Arthur's purely curious question. It would seem strange for him to just go off with a man he had only known as an acquaintance. "I, er…"

"May an old man request the help of your manservant, King Arthur?"

Arthur looked as if the request made him uncomfortable. What for? Distrust? Jealousy? "Of course…you don't have to ask. We're your guests." Perhaps just embarrassment.

Iseldir was already halfway to the large tent by the time Merlin finished thinking over Arthur's expression, and he had to jog to catch up. When he'd gotten a bit closer he said, _"Do you think it's safe to leave them unattended?"_

 _"Forridel will keep an eye on them,"_ Iseldir explained, nodding at the woman herself as she breezed by them laden with her last few pelts. She only briefly glanced their way before striding off towards the knights.

 _"Does she have magic?"_

 _"You're wondering if I communicated with her? No, I just know Forridel well after many years of friendship. She will not be shoved aside."_

With that last bit of explanation, Iseldir brought him within the folds of the structure. The green cloth blocked most sound, and though little blocked them from wheedles of the forest, it felt like walking into a castle. The difference had been so stunning that Merlin even double-checked for traces of magic.

A few cots were lined up before them, and other smaller tents stood erect in the space. It only affirmed the idea that there were many more Druids in Camelot than Iseldir was leading Arthur to believe.

Once they'd reached the center of the hut, the old man said, "It is here." At their feet was a flat circular stone, unassuming and plain. He bent down and rapped his knuckles against it in a staccato rhythm.

Moments later, the stone shoved aside and revealed a small man with close-cropped black hair. "Emrys," Iseldir introduced, "this is Cael, master of defenses." Cael smiled respectfully and disappeared, allowing Iseldir and Merlin to climb after him.

As Merlin's eyes adjusted to the dark he realized quite how literal Iseldir had been.

Directly beneath their feet had been a whole other camp. In this underground world further tents had been built, and abandoned upon the ground were many stone pickaxes and shovels. The men, who must have been digging before their arrival, sat patiently on the ground in deadly silence.

"Hallo," Merlin ventured.

He had to stoop to prevent his head from brushing the dirt ceiling. Piles of dirt and stone had been spaced evenly in the squat cave, and the flicker of firelight danced from a few lone sconces.

Cael began to speak in a hushed whisper. "The widespread knowledge of this camp's location makes defenses difficult. I met your friend Percival earlier this year, and I was struck by his ability to hide in plain sight."

"He does have that way about him," Merlin replied with a hint of pride for his friend.

"It was that idea that eventually inspired this." Cael gestured around. "Iseldir agrees that a temporary hideout, instead of relying on our knowledge of the woods, will keep everyone safer should the need arise."

"It's fantastic," Merlin praised. From the corner of his eye he watched a few druids swell with happiness and it made him blush. Luckily the darkness of the underground hid it. "Though it is putting a crick in my neck," he admitted.

"I actually hoped you would help with that, Emrys." Iseldir pressed a hand to the ceiling and scraped some of the hard packed dirt under his fingers. "I turned some of the dirt to stone, but not enough. Someone with your strength will have better luck, I'm sure."

While Merlin let his own senses catch hold of the spell Iseldir had placed on the roof, he thought back to similar magic he'd used in Ealdor. "I can try."

When tilling the fields, after years of watching seeds turn to plants and then to death, he'd realized that everything came from the earth. In the way his rare magic made him feel whole and connected to the land around him, the cradle of the earth taught him the same lesson for the material world. In his younger years he had used force to split larger rocks in half, or grind them into powder, but later he would just think on the oneness of the earth, and change them into dirt.

At last, Merlin said, "Hopefully I don't make the ground shake."

Closing his eyes, he focused on pushing his magic into the dirt above and around him. At first he just compacted it, he didn't really want to hunch over, but then he thought of the sweeping halls of the castle and tweaked it slightly so the ceiling began to arch, then dome overhead. Vaguely he remembered Master Finch speaking on the shape's structural stability.

His magic caught onto the crystallized pockets formed by Iseldir, and effortlessly he strengthened and expanded the spell until it began to spread throughout the ceiling.

He remembered the feeling of when he'd lived close to the earth—the smell of a pollinating flower, the sound of the brush of leaves in the wind—and as he did, his magic drifted into floor and walls. So as to hold the weight of the new ceiling, the tapered piles of dirt became slender columns of alabaster.

When he opened his eyes, the hole had become a cavern of stone. Iseldir spoke in a voice full of awe and reverence, a sentiment Merlin was wholly unprepared for. "You are a wonder, Emrys."

The men and women of that hidden chamber brushed their hands over the walls and floor that had transformed before their eyes. Cael had frozen, his shock evident. Sheepishly, Merlin tried to tell himself that the flickering light was what made the room seem so large.

So it was in that way, quite without realizing, Emrys turned a modest tunnel into the Hall of Brecffa.

* * *

Even in the midst of summer the nights ran cool in Albion.

After another day of travel, the group had arrived at the fork that split between their two destinations. Merlin had a stew going over their fire, and Forridel leaned over to fan the flames so the wooden coals burned a bright red in the dark. "Will you be traveling with me, Merlin, or with Aglain?"

"Are we splitting up?" He asked curiously. This was news to him.

"The Druids never traveled in large groups," she said by way of explanation.

"The lady has a point," Leon defended. "As a large party we are memorable."

Arthur frowned. Distractedly he accepted the bowl Merlin offered him, but when his friend moved away his eyes sharpened. "It's more than that. Merlin and I together are recognizable."

Merlin balked. "No one knows who I am."

"Forridel knew who you were."

Merlin looked askance at the woman in question. Yes, apparently that was so, but this wasn't the time to figure out why. But as he opened his mouth to deprecate his image, Percival interrupted him.

"I knew about you both."

"Because Lancelot told you," Merlin said exasperatedly.

Alas, he was swiftly outvoted. In a way, Merlin saw the logic. Apart they could blend in, but together they couldn't help but cause a stir. Plus he couldn't exactly cite magic and destiny as a reason to travel with Arthur. However, that didn't mean he had to like it.

Soon after the teams were chosen. In the morning, four would take the road into Deorham's capitol, while the others would follow the coastal path towards Cornwall. Merlin would much rather have infiltrated Odin's lands—his gut told him this king was not a man to be trusted. The fact that he wouldn't get the chance to search for Morgana within its borders bothered him. He did trust Arthur and the knights to look, but he also knew none of them would be able to sense her like he.

And if she did turn out to be there, how was he ever going to sneak out to Cornwall without notice? It was much too far.

While busy with these new problems, Merlin hefted the now cooled cooking pot and left the knights to divvy up the hours of this night's watch. Aiming to wash up he moved into the trees about them, but was surprised to hear the crunch of leaves behind him. Swiftly he realized Arthur was following him.

Cauldron hanging from his fingers, he waited for his friend to catch up. "I'm not going to fall in."

"I thought I could use a walk," Arthur hedged, pretending as always not to care about his servant's safety, though tricking no one.

They plodded on quietly, and to Merlin it felt like a companionable silence. When they found the thin stream again he crouched at its banks to scoop the frigid water into the pot. Arthur was an unmoving sentry at his back. A few times Merlin opened his mouth to say something cheeky, but couldn't get something with the right amount of bite. He was too pleased to witness Arthur acting all noble for him, especially after the strain their friendship had undergone recently.

He was scraping at the burnt edges with a wirebrush when Arthur sighed explosively. "Do you have a history with Iseldir?" Arthur sounded…irritated. But not just that…also like he thought it was a dumb question but was asking to appease some small piece of his mind.

Merlin tried not to sound too jittery. "No, why do you ask?"

"Forget it. Iseldir said much the same."

They were quiet again, Merlin filling the silence with intense scrubbing. Arthur stepped closer and kicked pebbles into the water before sitting next to him. Merlin tried to duck his head further into the pot, now scouring invisible spots.

Arthur continued, now with an odd sort of confusion. "You two watch each other a lot."

If he could have crawled into the pot, he would have. "I respect him. I think he is a good leader."

Arthur's face pinched, and he turned his head away and rolled another rock beneath his boot. "He's alright, I guess."

Arthur's obvious jealously made him grin, and it was enough for him to steer the conversation away. "Your muscles are so _big_. There, do you feel better now?"

His friend scoffed and shoved him in the shoulder. "That reminds me, you're not going to pass as a hired guard."

"As I said before, no one will even notice me." The pot was thoroughly clean at this point, and Merlin pulled it from the water and started to dry it with the end of his sleeve.

"Just keep your mouth shut, or they'll never forget you."

"Aw, Arthur, I'm touched."

Merlin's smile hadn't even made it halfway across his face before Arthur's wicked smirk struck him down. "It's been years and I'm still reeling at your idiocy."

Merlin huffed and stood with a flourish. "Says the idiot who put his tunic on backwards this morning."

"You aren't going to fool me with that again," Arthur complained. He caught up to Merlin and clapped a hand on his friends shoulder. "Wait." He bent down and hefted his knife from his boot. Sternly, he handed it to Merlin.

"Am I to fight off bandits with this?" Merlin's dry mocking batted away what could have been a touching moment.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If you get captured use it to cut your tongue out. It wags nearly without your control, and you know too much about Camelot."

"Thanks, prat."

"You're welcome, idiot."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Balsamic tincture: also known as Friar's Balsam (meaning 'resin') and mostly made of liquid extract of Benzoin resin. It is used as an antiseptic and protectant to minor cuts/blisters. Undiluted, it will sting during application.  
(2) The Forest of Brecffa is the name of the woods on the southern side of Camelot, and where Iseldir has placed his camp.  
(3) We meet Cael in Seven Layer Upside Down Cake. He's the Master of Defenses.

 **Author's Note:** My gods, I think I ship Leon/Forridel. It must be the only ship for these two on the seas of fanon Merlin. I don't care. It makes me giggle and I enjoy it. What shall I call them? Leodel? Forreon? Fleon? ;)

A little bit of bromance in this one, hopefully you like, and a good emotional place for Merlin and Arthur to have a pause for Arthur's growing questions. A little bit of Bamf!Merlin in this one, too! Like I said—I think I'm cycling through a few tropes here. I think Merlin would have been a bit embarrassed, and I like exploring how he reacts to the praise of the Druids. I'm wondering how that'll change over the course of the story.

And, of course, thanks to Linorien for telling me when my jokes bordered on creepy! And to Jewelsmg for being the perfect reference on Merlin facts. For my reviewers, thank you all again! PM's to follow, except for the guest reviewer—I don't know who you are, but thank you!

 **Next time** : Cell Block Tango. Merlin infiltrates Deorham and overhears some troubling news.


	22. Cell Block Tango

—

 **Cell Block Tango  
** _The Kalends of August (July 16-31)_

"At least let me carry your load, my lady."

"As 'husband and wife' we should carry the load equally."

Gwaine turned to Merlin with an expression of unadulterated glee. Watching Leon get more and more flustered over the blonde refugee had quite obviously made his day. "They're already fighting like an old married couple," he whispered.

"Your evil plan is coming along nicely," Merlin replied dryly, referencing the story Gwaine had come up with to get them through the gates of Deorham's capitol. Namely, that Leon and Forridel were a married duo that had hired a sell-sword for protection. (Merlin hadn't needed a story—he had walked in the front gates without so much as a second glance from the guards. As he'd explained before, no one noticed him.)

"In addition," Forridel continued briskly, "stop it with the titles. I'm certainly not a lady, and your need to use them will only cause suspicion."

"You are a woman worthy of the title," Leon returned, "even if you will not accept it."

Forridel didn't break pace, but did turn to study Leon over her shoulder. When she noticed Gwaine nearly keeling over in delight she turned stubbornly forward, hiding the beginnings of a blush. "I'm going to get us a booth, don't get in the way."

She shoved her share of the pelts into Leon's hands and strode away quickly.

"She _likes_ you," Gwaine teased.

"Please refrain yourself from gossiping like an old maid," Leon said with all the sternness of the captain of the guard. Gwaine only laughed in delight.

Merlin got to business. "I think we should split up to look for hints of Morgana."

"Not so loud," Gwaine hushed, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard. "Hmm, maybe we should have codewords."

"I was thinking I'd blend in with the servants at the castle and see if I can get any gossip from them," Merlin continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"We're going to call her _the Black Widow_."

Leon answered Merlin, also ignoring Gwaine. "I'll help Forridel set up to keep up appearances, and then talk to the other merchants and customers. A market is a good place to catch hold of a spreading rumor."

Merlin turned to his friend, "Would you like to find the other drunks and see if you can get them to spill their secrets?"

"I resent that, as I am not a drunk." Gwaine grinned when Merlin rolled his eyes. "Actually, I thought I'd chum up to some of the guards. Anyone who is drinking this early in the day will just tell me stories about their wives anyway."

Forridel returned then to grab Leon's tunic. "Come on, husband." She marched him away and left Gwaine and Merlin in their wake.

"She's already got him whipped," Gwaine said mournfully, grinning again when he caused his friend to laugh. "Shall we meet back here at lunch?"

"Might not be enough time," Merlin responded. "I'll see you at evening bell, then we can hit up the taverns if we still haven't heard anything."

"Alright," the knight shrugged, "but be careful, mate. If she's anywhere, she's at the castle."

Merlin nodded to say he'd heard but then walked away before Gwaine could change his mind and tag along. He could handle Morgana just fine on his own.

He didn't sense any dark magic in the area, but that didn't mean Morgana wasn't here. Considering his short span in her hovel, she _did_ know how to heal, and that certainly wasn't a corrupting spell. Her soul may be black, but all of her magic wasn't.

Deorham's capitol was a triangular shaped city and the market was near its southern corner. The castle itself towered over them all from a large rock on the coast, and he followed the paths near the city's walls to avoid getting lost in the small streets of its center. As he approached, the briny breeze swept a constant gust into the side of his head, tousling his hair and leaving it feeling thick and tangled.

The road began to bend as it neared the castle, and an enclosed area holding the few manor houses and the court's stables rose on his right hand side. There was an entrance into that walled off community, but he passed it by for the bigger fish—the king's castle itself. There was a pond at its front entrance, crossed by a single arcing bridge, and Merlin fell into step by another servant a few years his younger as he started to walk upon it. He arranged his features into a neutral mask, utterly forgettable in their blankness, and was able to pass by the front guards without incident.

Now it was even more important to not be noticeable, so he had to never look lost. He followed the servant boy into the nearest servants' passage then made sure to tail a new peasant. He continued in this way, slightly lost but always walking with an unrushed confidence, until someone led him to the kitchens.

Here he made sure not to smile or look anyone in the eye, yet also not seem suspiciously meek. A slight effusion of boredom worked well here, and no one gave him any trouble as he picked up a pitcher of watered down wine in his left hand, and a platter of cheese in his right. With his accessories he blended even more into the background, and so he felt more comfortable exploring the castle without 'guides'.

When he finally bumped open a door and found himself in the throne room in the midst of a discussion between Alined and his advisors, it was all he could do to not grin smugly to himself.

His mask plastered firmly in place, Merlin stepped quietly to the dais and held the jug half out in a wordless request to refill Alined's goblet. The king tipped the cup in his direction without even glancing his way, and Merlin topped it off.

"We don't have the funds."

He held the platter of food forward but Alined waved him away, so Merlin retreated into a back corner and held his food and water like the perfect servant—channeling his inner George, he supposed.

Alined responded sourly. "We never do. Surely someone in great Albion is on the brink of war?"

"All seems quiet since the Southron attack on Camelot."

Alined was an older man, with greying hair and skin that sagged around his once strong facial structure. He wore a golden crown on a black base to match the black cloak thrown over his broad shoulders. "Helios is assuredly dead?"

"The king of Camelot has announced so; he would only look foolish for lying."

"Blast." Alined frowned and glared at an invisible enemy, muttering to himself. The sound carried in the echoing chamber. "Not much of a warlord if he gets himself killed before purchasing the siege weapons he requested." Louder now, he said, "Perhaps we can sell them to the lovely King Arthur instead—surely he's worried about defenses if his city has fallen to the witch twice in so short a time!"

"King Arthur has yet to declare war himself—siege weapons may not be something he's eager to buy."

"I'm sure he would change his tune if he heard someone was harboring the witch."

Merlin didn't like where this was going, but he was fortunate to have overheard it. It seemed Alined's cowardly tactics hadn't changed at all over the years.

The advisor could be seen mulling over Alined's words. The man had a habit of running his tongue over the ends of his teeth while deliberating. "I believe Odin is the best target."

"I agree," the king replied. "Camelot is already our ally by treaty, so our assistance won't be questioned. However, if Odin is under siege, we are the only kingdom in a position to trade with him. If we played our cards right, we would make money off both parties." The advisor remained silent as Alined became more pensive. The king continued. "Though, Odin is a powerful enemy to make. We will have to be delicate."

Alined appeared to jolt then, and he turned in his throne to eye Merlin standing innocently in his alcove. "Boy," he barked.

Merlin stepped forward, keeping his eyes downcast and a carefully blank expression. He said nothing.

"Fetch me Trickler."

Merlin bowed, remaining silent, and left through the door he'd entered in. Now safely away from the king and his plotting advisor, he passed off the tray of cheese and the pitcher of wine to nearby servants before retracing his steps out of the castle. He left a third servant to fetch the magical court jester—he had what he came for.

* * *

Gwaine's new best mate could not keep his mouth shut. It had apparently only taken one story of a dangerous gambit from Gwaine's past to make him a friend for life, and the guard was now laughing boisterously while telling a new tale about his mother-in-law and their pig.

Though Gwaine supposed no one could be this happy if Morgana was in town.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder and the rogue turned to see Merlin. "Can I borrow him?" His friend asked of the guard.

"Aye," the guard agreed, waving his hand to let them go. "Meet me and the lads for a pint this evening, eh mate?"

"Sure, sure!" Gwaine said as Merlin led them off. When they were out of earshot he leaned down and said seriously, "I don't think the Black Widow is here."

"She definitely isn't," Merlin agreed confidently, "but we have a new problem."

"And that is?"

Merlin nodded towards a drab man before them, skulking through the shadows of alleyways. "The Trickler."

* * *

It's late afternoon, almost early evening. The Trickler continues to look about nervously, humming strange tunes to himself as he moves deeper into the city. Gwaine and Merlin are on his trail, but are forced to hang far back due to Gwaine's endless curiosity.

"And what has he done to earn your stalking?"

Merlin sighs, if this was how loud Gwaine was while following someone, then his own magic would stay secret for a long time to come. "Nearly started a war between Uther and Olaf after slipping Arthur a love potion."

"So, he's magic?"

"He's just an enchanter, albeit a good one." Merlin pauses, wondering if he should feign greater ignorance.

Gwaine only hums in thought. "Mate, are any of your secret stories not about Arthur's love life?"

He squawks. " _Yes!_ "

"Just tell me the most embarrassing thing he did while besotted," Gwaine laughs, "I'm getting goosebumps just thinking of how I'll use this against him."

The Trickler veers down a narrow alleyway, and they have to pause in the middle of the street to prevent being too obvious. It gives Merlin time to think. "The worst was snogging Lady Vivian in her chambers. The entire court walked in on them."

Gwaine raises a brow. "Didn't know the princess had it in him."

"Not nearly as good as what happened in the tent the next morning."

"Oh?"

Merlin chuckles wryly and shakes his head. "I've been threatened with death if I speak of it."

The Trickler stops underneath a sign reading The Wooden Crown, and Merlin and Gwaine hide themselves in the inset of a back alley door. The smell of ale and unwashed bodies wafts from where a burly man stood guard. He is missing an eye and has a nasty burn scarring his arm.

"And what brings you here?" The sentry's gruff voice booms through the small snicket.

The court-jester fidgets with his ratty clothes nervously, but manages, "Our king, the king, sends me."

"Show your gold."

The Trickler ducks his head, his receding hairline more obvious now, and to the cobblestones mumbles a string of words. A moment later, from his hand flies a delicate butterfly. Throughout the display the guard stares carefully at the enchanter's face, and when he confirms the gold he sought, he jerks his head towards the door.

Gwaine turns to Merlin, "I don't suppose you have a butterfly up your sleeve for our entrance fee?"

Merlin is still gaping at the pub from their dark corner. In astonishment he says, "I think that's a gathering place for magic users."

"Yeah," Gwaine replies nonchalantly. "They're around, just not in Camelot—illegal usually, and unsavory."

Merlin turns wide eyes to him. "You've been?"

He shrugs. "No point, unless I was going to hire someone with magic. Not my thing, y'know?"

Merlin nods then asks nervously. "So, how do you get in?"

He takes Merlin's sentence to mean them both, not catching the slip of tongue. He pats the bag of coin at his hip and says, "Show my gold of course." Though, they were suspicious enough as it was—as foreigners they were sure to stand out already. "Do you think you can fake being magic?"

Merlin looks surprised. Dryly he says, "I think I can manage it."

"Good." He reaches up and tugs at Merlin's wild hair until it sticks up at even odder angles. "Scowl a little. Look like an angry sorcerer." Merlin glowers at him and Gwaine nods in approval.

Merlin says nothing.

* * *

"Follow my lead."

Gwaine swaggered from their dark street into the dimly lit space before The Wooden Crown. He kept his head bowed but strengthened his stance to look broad and menacing, and it assuredly worked. In this seedy corner of town, he looked much more a thug of the underground than an honorable knight of Camelot.

He tried to shoulder past the guard, but the man caught him on the shoulder. "Show your gold."

Gwaine moved his tunic to reveal the bag of coins but gained a challenging glare, daring the man to try and take hold of it.

"Who's your liege?" The guard asked suspiciously.

Gwaine sneered. "All the nobility are dogs."

The unfeigned disdain convinced the burned sentry, and the large hand released his shoulder. Gwaine moved into the doorway and turned to see if Merlin needed the help of his quick tongue, but a torch flared overhead and he had to cover his eyes. By the time he'd blinked the spots from his eyes, Merlin was already next to him.

He wanted to ask what Merlin had done to get past the guard, but didn't want to draw attention to them. Job dens were always filled with unscrupulous crowds, and the Wooden Crown was no different. Only minutes in, and the patrons were watching them either with suspicion or the calculating hunger of men who had just seen their next potential meal.

His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, trying to look menacing, but Merlin seemed to have that covered all on his own.

Merlin stalked forward, danger emanating from him in waves, and the thugs parted round him.

In his wake, Gwaine followed, realizing suddenly that his friend was quite tall. From the corner of his eye, he saw the man they'd tracked, the Trickler, scuttle away from the servant's shadow.

Then Merlin had reached the bar and his glare had fastened on the barkeep. Wordlessly the man filled and passed two pints of ale to them. Gwaine felt obligated to pay—counting out copper seemed beneath his friend at the moment.

After the new 'sorcerer' made no further moves, the pub began to return to its low buzz of sound. Gwaine tried to discretely hiss while he brought the mug to his lips. "Fie, mate, I nearly pissed myself."

Merlin hid his face—tried to joke, but it came out flat. "Wait till you see Arthur on a bad day."

The two friends stayed quiet, sipping their ales and slipping their focus onto the conversation happening just behind them. At first they gained nothing for their attention, the Trickler's nerves and strange way of speaking keeping the point of the conversation long in coming. Gwaine began to worry that he and Merlin's inactivity would soon become too obvious, but then Trickler finally said something that made his ears perk.

"Master says to get the word out."

"He's not my master," the second participant stated gruffly. He was a tall man in a hooded cloak. Merlin couldn't turn to look, but Gwaine perceived the blonde beard out of his periphery. "But I enjoy gossip. Out with it now; I'm not getting any younger."

"Anyone who knows where the High Priestess is in hiding, h-hiding, laying low-like, should tell her Odin has a message."

"The Lady Morgana?" The man spoke quietly, oddly sultry. "What message?"

"If she is to come to Cornwall," the court jester got caught in a fit of giggles, "then she will have an ally."

"She has more allies than she knows," the man mused. His hand moved out to clench Trickler's shoulder, and beneath his cloak Gwaine caught the glint of a sword. "You are a good man, Trickler, to bring me these tidings. I—"

The rest of the sentence was lost when a wan faced, rat-like man was tossed between he and Merlin. "Oi!" Gwaine said in frustration.

The man only shivered as someone in the crowd said something rude in a language Gwaine didn't understand, huddling between the two tough-looking foreigners as if they were his protectors.

When the jeerer had turned away, the sallow faced companion they'd gained ran his small eyes over Gwaine's form before turning to Merlin on his other side. "You look very strong, very powerful, please help me, it would be nothing to you—"

Merlin's eyes narrowed, and the dangerous look returned as the pitiful speech washed over him. "What do you want?"

"Just the tiniest of curses, the smallest wisp of magic, just to help a poor man such as myself…"

"What kind of curse?" Merlin's voice cut sharply through the smoggy air between them and the man cowered.

"My wife, great sorcerer, she's run away! Left me! The evil thief—"

Merlin cut him off with a quiet anger. "You want someone to use their magic for your petty revenge?"

"A pox on her and her new husband, please, I can pay…"

"I would hope those with magic haven't fallen so far as to ever help you." Merlin pulled the man's fingers from his tunic, and let his magic show briefly in his eyes. "Go home." The disgusting creature blanched and scurried away, lost in the crowd in a moment. Quickly Merlin noticed that the cloaked man and Trickler had disappeared, and a glance to his side showed that Gwaine had winked away as well.

But, as his eyes scanned the crowd, he saw Gwaine shoving his way back towards them, shaking his head.

"They slipped away," the rogue said roughly, "they're in the wind, now."

"I want to get out of here," Merlin said.

Gwaine didn't need to be told twice, and the two men made their way back out into the street. The sky had darkened quickly, and they picked up their pace as they followed the alleyways back to a main road. "I guess this means Morgana isn't in Cornwall either," Gwaine said after replaying the conversation they'd overheard.

"Probably not," Merlin agreed. In frustration and bubbling anxiety, he wondered. _Where was she?_

"You play a scary sorcerer really well," Gwaine rattled on—the question in his tone obvious.

"Er, thanks." Merlin said slowly and turned his head to scan the street, worried Gwaine would see through his lie.

Gwaine had lived many personas, but being a fool had always been an act. Merlin had shown one too many cards, and he wasn't going to get away with it anymore. _I'm going to figure you out, Merlin, with or without your help._ "Will you at least tell me where you learned how to strike fear into the hearts of men?"

"Later," Merlin said simply, evasively. "One day."

"You always say that, mate."

"It doesn't make it any less true, and look—there's Leon and Forridel."

* * *

A few days hence, Merlin and company had returned to the same campsite they'd branched from nearly a week ago.

Leon had gone out to check the area—a favorite pastime of his, Gwaine was clearing out the coals of their previous fire, and Merlin had taken to bouncing from foot to foot while he watched the trail Arthur had taken to Cornwall.

 _He's late,_ Merlin couldn't help but think. _Something terrible has happened and I'm stuck here waiting._

He itched to reach into his boot and hold the halfpenny in his hand. Consciously he knew that as long as his wasn't cold, then Arthur's wasn't activated. However the irrational part of himself hoped that if he stared hard enough at the metal, that he'd be able to see Arthur. Or even better be able to suddenly appear at his side.

He hated that he couldn't cross distances in the blink of an eye. He didn't know what to call it, but he knew he'd seen others cast the spell. Actually, they could just have been using some sort of cloaking magic, but he doubted that was the case. It seemed more like they disappeared here and reappeared somewhere else. How was he supposed to research a spell if he barely understood how to describe it?

Merlin tugged at his tangled hair in frustration and left it standing more on end than usual. Arthur leaving him behind had never been a problem before—he had always assumed he'd be nearby in case the king got himself into trouble. Now Arthur was pushing him away. Or was it that Arthur had gotten tired of him? Perhaps it was much less dire, and Arthur had only deemed him as capable as the rest of the knights and to be trusted alone in far off places…

He growled at himself. He was acting like a jilted maiden, but fie if he didn't feel like one!

"You alright, mate?"

He almost smoothed everything over with a lie, but it was only Gwaine. His friend could be trusted with the truth, if only the partial truth that it was. "I'm worried about Arthur."

"I'm sure he misses you too," the rogue laughed. Merlin shoved him in exasperation but couldn't hide the amused smile fighting its way across his face. Gwaine continued. "Don't bother your pretty little head over Princess. If he gets himself into trouble, us heroes will ride to the rescue and save his damsel-arse."

"Spoken like a true knight," Merlin mocked.

"Spirits, I hope not. If I ever get like that, drag me to a tavern as fast as you can."

Leon returned carrying an assortment of dried twigs and branches, sheathing his sword one-handed. "My lady, there is a stream nearby and no one in our area. You mentioned you wanted to wash…?"

"Thank you, Leon." Forridel stood and brushed her skirt off. "Do _not_ follow me. I can and will guard myself."

Leon looked torn between a desire to defend his honor and the need to be chivalrous. In that way he watched the woman walk away into the trees and was forced to endure Gwaine's consoling arm wrapping around his shoulders. "She'll come around."

"When we return to Camelot—" Leon started threateningly, but Gwaine hijacked the knight's sentence.

"—You'll be taking the next patrol to Iseldir's camp. I know," Gwaine whispered, squeezing the captain tighter. "This is a safe place, you can admit your feelings."

Leon's unbelievable frustration was not released on them because Merlin jumped slightly and yelled, "Arthur! Finally!"

The knights looked up the crest of the trail and watched what was unmistakably Percival and Arthur walking ahead while Elyan and Aglain followed, the latter chatting his idol's ear off. Merlin looked just about ready to run off into the hills to greet them, but restrained himself.

Instead the servant turned back towards them and brought his hands together in a loud clap. "Well, of course they're back! Why wouldn't they be? Let's get the fire started, shall we?"

Merlin bustled around the campsite in a relieved daze. The two knights watched him dart to and fro—feeling wholly unneeded as tasks were taken almost directly out of their hands. It took teamwork on their part to get Merlin sufficiently distracted so they could help without being preempted. Despite the chaotic unit they made, food was ready when the rest of their party arrived, and as a group they ate and regaled each other with lighthearted stories of their journeys.

The hour was late when all decided to disperse and left Arthur and Merlin warming their toes by the dying fire.

But, because it was Arthur and Merlin, and because they were alone, it wasn't dying for long. "Are you ever going to stoke that?"

"You could do it with that long, pointed, metal stick I see hanging from your hip."

"Excalibur is not meant to be poked in fires."

Merlin scoffed and his mouth did the stupid twitchy thing that meant he was holding back from blatantly laughing at his king. Unfortunately a few chuckles escaped, and then he was giggling and snorting to himself at a joke Arthur had no hope of comprehending.

"I worry for your sanity," Arthur said stubbornly.

"Ignore me," Merlin said, wiping a tear from his eyes. "So are you going to tell me what happened in Cornwall?"

"I was nearly recognized," Arthur replied, eyebrows raising. "I had to spend all daylight hours cooped up in a small inn because Percival is an unswayable sadist." Merlin was shaking his head deploringly at him, but Arthur continued his half-serious rant. "Elyan and Aglain abandoned me to my fate of sheer boredom. But now I can't tell which was worse—the endless silence while in Cornwall, or the endless chatter on the way out!"

"They do seem to enjoy each other's company," Merlin said, still able to see the teenager's wide grin even across the clearing.

Arthur couldn't help the small, pleased smile that wormed its way onto his face. "They pretended to be brothers. Elyan doted on him like a real older brother would."

Merlin chuckled. "Maybe he misses it." He finally got up and stirred the embers. "Did Percival find anything in Odin's lands while you were napping?"

"I helped," Arthur said, suddenly affronted. "In the nights we combed that city from top to bottom. No sign of the witch. We caught rumors that she was in the East, but everything is eastward from Cornwall."

"Looks like I had more luck than you, then."

Arthur leaned forward eagerly. "What did you find out?"

"Morgana isn't in Deorham either, and Alined obviously didn't know where she was. He mentioned that—"

"Wait," Arthur held a hand up and blinked, slowly processing. " _Alined_ mentioned?"

"Yes, he said—"

" _King_ Alined? How did you get near him?"

Merlin shrugged as if it were nothing. "I walked into the throne room and poured wine in his goblet."

"You just…walked in." Arthur was looking at him in pure astonishment. "You're surprisingly good at spying."

"Don't act so shocked; I can have skills." Though he couldn't exactly say he'd had practice, could he? "Now, if you're done gaping, fish-face, I overheard a few things you definitely need to know about…."

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Deorham, King Alined, one of the five kingdoms.  
(2) The capital city of Deorham is based on Conwy Castle and its surrounding town in Wales.  
(3) Trickler is a canon character who appeared in 2.10, alongside King Alined.  
(4) You can probably guess who the cloaked figure in the bar was. If you can't, well you'll get to be surprised.  
(5) Cornwall, King Odin

 **Author's Note:** I like this idea of an unsavory magical underground, acting almost like sellswords but magical. I also believe other countries are less strict about purging their lands of magic compared to Camelot. Plus, other rulers seem pretty okay with teaming up with Morgause or Morgana at various points in the show.

I had fun with Merlin's skills as well. A scary Merlin is kind of fun to write, if extremely difficult because of how rare a side that is, but I want to try it out again. I also like that Merlin and Arthur just had time to be friends tonight. They can't always be hiding thoughts from each other.

Thanks to the lovely Linorien for straightening all my bad writing habits, and to Jewelsmg for being my rope (and my noose)!

Since a few people mentioned it, I want to follow up here: I'm really glad the Hall of Brecffa scene went over well! I agonized over it. Merlin is steadily becoming more powerful as he learns and experiments with magic, but he's not at the level of the Emrys that emerged from the Crystal Cave in Season 5. This is actually really interesting to me, because thinking of ways for him to improve in a realistic way is exciting.

Oh, and Leon, I love you and your crush. You take the patrols that pass around the Druid camp; I know you want to.

 **Next time** : A Tale of Two Patrols. Morgana is still in the wind, and Merlin needs a way to find her. And so we finally meet Dragoon the Great, and his namesake.


	23. A Tale of Two Patrols

**—**

 **A Tale of Two Patrols  
** _August_

The third time Merlin yawned, his jaw opened so wide it nearly cracked. If anyone had known to make the joke, they would have likened it to a waking dragon.

"Are we boring you, Merlin?"

Arthur had called a Round Table meeting early that morning for a more formal rehash of the events in the south. It was a tad boring to stand through a conversation he'd heard all before, but that was not why he was yawning. Gaius had him up all night cleaning the leech tank. "M'tired is all."

"You needed reminding," his guardian said, his annoyance palpable, "to not be so reckless." Merlin sent him a withering look; Gaius knew he wouldn't be able to respond as he wanted.

They'd had this talk ad infinitum last night, and he knew Gaius was angry he'd put his secrets so close to the surface. The others believed his stint in the throne room had been his most dangerous, but truly it was Gwaine's growing suspicion that had Gaius nearly apoplectic.

Percival was smiling widely. "Before I ever met you, I'd heard all about your nerves of steel."

It hadn't seemed possible, but Gaius' glare deepened, and Merlin flinched. Lancelot's knowledge was another sore argument, but Percival wouldn't have known that.

"It has got me thinking," Arthur was saying, "especially since Guinevere brought similarly dire news that she'd overheard while serving Helios. Any of Camelot's servants could be spies for other kingdoms."

"What are you planning, Arthur?" Leon asked warily. He was not eager to start interrogating the lower classes and further widening the divide between them. Unlike the other knights, however, Leon would have done it if Arthur asked it of him.

"Nothing overt," Arthur said, backtracking. "I just think Merlin could keep his ears open for us." Dryly he continued, "It comes to my attention he makes a great double-agent."

Merlin flinched again and thought he should really get out of there before Gaius found enough reason to follow through on his threat to not talk to him for a fortnight. "And if I find someone, you'll believe me?"

"Within reason," Arthur replied, and then joked. "I know your penchant for making wild allegations without proof."

"Now that you say that, if I said your court physician has a new mental affliction and you should really give me leave of him—" Gaius called his name sharply, and Arthur's face melted in a _I already regret this_ expression. "Yeah, I didn't think that would work. Permission to do my chores?"

Merlin held up an empty wooden bowl that Gwen quickly recognized as the fruit bowl from their chambers. Apologetically she said, "Sorry, Merlin, I gave them all away."

"You don't have to apologize, your Maj," Merlin laughed.

"Please don't call the queen 'Maj', Merlin," Arthur griped. "If you cannot contain yourself, then 'siress' was better."

"I'm still experimenting. What about 'Quinevere'?"

"Please extricate yourself before I strangle you."

"Touchy." Merlin had made it to the front doors of the throne room by then, and the door closing at his back was the perfect punctuation. He tallied another verbal argument for himself and jogged the corridor to the courtyard.

Along the way he met Sir Brennis returning from patrol, looking for either Leon or Arthur, and Merlin pointed him towards the throne room.

He took the servant's staircase in the East Tower two steps at a time until he hit the landing of Gaius' chambers. Tossing the wooden bowl onto their central table, he grabbed the herb satchel from the wall and abandoned the empty room as quickly as he'd come.

He had been thinking of going to the clearing for a bit of time now, but he hadn't found the opportunity. He was hoping to have Gaius give him an excuse to spend an afternoon in the forest, but with the physician's anger at him he hadn't had a chance to ask yet. Then there had been the jokes about his false duality—they trusted him so much—and… _Gwaine…_

 _You don't actually_ _ **have**_ _some dark secret, do you? You know you could tell me…_

He had denied it with a vehemence he'd hated. So much of him wanted to just tell his friend the truth. So much of him was terrified of being found out for the liar he was.

He wanted so badly to be free that it hurt. He knew that his desire for a sympathetic ear should, and had to, be second to the liberty of the magical community.

He didn't _want_ to, but he did _need_ to see Kilgharrah.

* * *

The golden dragon was a second sun plummeting to earth, the first setting behind clouds hung heavy in a sky, their bottom edges burning a brilliant orange.

When the aged creature landed in the clearing, his wings billowing and folding onto his broad back, Merlin let some of the trouble flash across his face. Surprisingly, the expression was mirrored on the Great Dragon himself.

"Why did you call me, young warlock?"

"At first I wanted to ask you if it was time for Arthur to find out the truth, but then I knew you'd just say—"

"You and the king are destined to bring magic back to Camelot."

"—that." Merlin shook his head, waving away the thought. "I just want specifics, but I know you don't have them." He started pacing.

"What troubles you?"

"Arthur is happy, Camelot is recovering well, and I could ruin that with my own agenda. Besides, Morgana has disappeared, perhaps for good—" he shook his head again. "He's not ready. It's still too soon."

Kilgharrah's eyes tracked him back and forth, but that was the only movement the dragon made. His throat rumbled to show he acknowledged Merlin's words, but no opinion was forthcoming.

Merlin landed back on the grass before the creature of magic, and swiped a hand through his hair. "Old friend, I have a favor to ask."

"I do as well, little Dragonlord."

Merlin looked surprised, and said courteously. "Would you like to go first?"

Kilgharrah just leaned forward to put his hand on his forearms, and blinked up at him slowly. Merlin figured that meant he should just continue on.

He took a deep breath. "I need to know how to move instantly from one place to the next. I've seen others do it in a whirl of air, but I've heard Morgause use the world for 'conceal' so then I thought perhaps it had a connection to the earth…?"

The great dragon made the same rumbling sound, thinking, then his large eyes flickered open and he said, "I know the spell you're seeking."

"Will I need to trade something for it?"

"In a fashion," Kilgharrah answered, "but I feel you will not regret my request."

"Just say it, Kilgharrah," Merlin said warily.

The large dragon stood again to his feet and turned his face away, almost in embarrassment. "Aithusa is missing."

Were the warning bells tolling in Camelot? He could hear a ringing in his ears… "For how long?"

"Months, young warlock."

"You should have told me sooner!" Merlin raged, standing to his feet and eyes flashing. "She's a child!'

"I know how precious she is!" Kilgharrah roared, "Do not forget who told you of her egg!" As quick as the dragon had flown into his own fury, he found control, looking at Merlin imploringly. "I cannot find her with my Sight. Her fate fluctuates."

"I'm sorry for yelling," he apologized. "But now you _must_ tell me the transport spell. I have no other way to search for her."

"Come closer, and I will breathe the knowledge upon you."

Merlin strode before the Great Dragon, his scales beginning to turn molten in the low light. On Kilgharrah's exhale the spell washed over him, telling him not of air or earth magic but the space in between. He saw the intricate structure of elongated golden tunnels, built up by layers upon layers of magic, and he heard the long phrases required to build and stabilize the ephemeral structure, and the added phrase to conceal and transport the caster.

" _Astýre_."

He didn't need more than a word for his great store of magic to spindle before him, and in a rushing moment, like falling headlong into the rapids of a river, he was sucked through. In an instant he was across the clearing and falling onto his hands and knees.

The dragon chuckled, and Merlin rolled over, rubbing the imprint of grass and pebbles from his palms. "Did I do that badly?"

Kilgharrah shook his head, chuckling again. "You took a large amount of air through the tunnel with you."

"Oh," Merlin said sheepishly. "Was it loud?"

"Yes," the dragon chortled again, "but I have no doubt you will gain better control with time." His wings unfurled and Kilgharrah bent his sinuous neck to touch his snout to Merlin's forehead. "Thank you for your assistance, my kin."

"The next time I call you," Merlin said, "I hope it is with better news."

Kilgharrah nodded and took off for the deepening blue of the sky. Merlin watched the dragon go, thinking of how far they'd come as confidants, and feeling the greying anger in his stomach that always came upon him in a battle.

The young hatchling had been a spot of hope in a darkening world, and as the sun finally dispersed beyond the horizon he wondered just how long this night would be, and if he would ever again see their Light of Dawn.

* * *

"Merlin, it's the middle of the night!"

"Gaius, you're still up?"

The physician's workshop was so dark it was nearly black, and to avoid slamming his shin on a bit of clutter Merlin lit a candle with a flash of gold. The flames flicker did little to brighten the room, but Gaius could now be made out sitting up in bed, still clad in his nightgown.

"Where have you been? I've been worried into sickness."

"I had to speak with Kilgharrah, what's…" Gaius stood up and enveloped him in a tight hug, "—wrong…. Gaius?"

"Gwaine didn't mention his suspicions after you left the meeting, but I thought perhaps they knew I couldn't be trusted—"

 _Oh._ Merlin returned the hug briefly, then pushed the elderly man away gently. "Arthur hasn't started a witch hunt. He wouldn't—he is better than that."

"I know. But when you didn't come back I couldn't help but think…" Gaius trailed off and smacked him in the head. "Foolish boy."

"That was short-lived," Merlin groused, slipping away to grab the empty fruit bowl from the table and toss the satchel of herbs in its place. He paused, toying with it. "He taught me how to travel long distances instantaneously."

"Teleportation?"

"That's what it's called?" He groaned. "I should have just asked you. I would have gotten more sleep these past weeks."

Gaius sat back onto his cot, one hand on his lower back and the other on his knee. "I wouldn't have had much information, beyond that it requires a large amount of magic. Where will you be going?"

"No further than my room at first," Merlin mumbled, then waved his hand in the air and explained how he still needed practice. "Eventually I hope to pop around all over Albion so I can track down Aithusa, or follow Morgana's trail. I won't let her raise another army against Camelot."

"I've never heard of anyone traveling so far."

"Have you ever heard of someone quite like me though?"

"Egoism doesn't look good on you, my boy." Gaius leaned over to grab the candleholder, then held it aloft to better see the ingredients on the shelves above and around him. "We'll need more philosopher's wool."

"I can hold the aging spell without the potion now; I have at long last figured out the complications of a glamour." Merlin overextended his attempt to sound humble, and it only made him laugh.

"Oh, so you believe you can teleport across the entire country _while_ holding up an intricate glamour spell? Would you _prefer_ to risk appearing in the midst of a retinue of knights dressed as _yourself_?"

Merlin flinched and said contritely, "I suppose I see your point."

* * *

Leon sat astride his chestnut gelding, looking out on the trampled ground of the forest around him. Sir Brennis rode next to him and an entourage of footsoldiers stood at their back.

"We came upon the area some time ago," Sir Brennis was saying. "Drystan actually found it; he had come over to take a leak."

 _The immaturity I deal with_ , Leon sighed while listening to Brennis chuckle. "It is odd. Did they leave a trail?"

"A few, but they disappear in the middle of nowhere, as if all those people just flew away."

"Let's take a look," Leon said, nodding the way ahead.

"We'll have to go on foot," Sir Brennis replied while swinging himself onto the ground. "Could it have been the Druids? The king hasn't mentioned them coming this far north, but we haven't had a Council meeting in a while."

Leon shook his head. "Not any Druids we know of, but I'll go down to Iseldir's camp to make certain."

He and the burly knight picked their way through the foliage, the younger man pointing out the various signs of a large group's movement through the undergrowth. "Ah, here it is," Brennis said and pointed towards a small clearing. He followed the last few traceable footfalls while Leon watched from the treeline. "See? They just disappear."

The wind began to pick up, buffeting Brennis' Camelotian cape about his tall frame. Leon looked on flabbergasted—it had been a very quiet day so far. In fact, the wind was dull from where he stood.

Brennis looked to his side, eyes widening. "Get down!"

Leon of course did not heed the warning, his hand instead going to his sword. Brennis also unsheathed his sword and in the next moment the air itself was ripping into a black hole, the wind spilling from it in great gusts. "Move away from there!"

Then the hole was gone, and in its place stood an old man dressed in long red robes. Brennis gave a battle cry and thrust his sword for the man's stomach.

"Rah!" The old man screamed and Brennis went flying halfway across the field before landing flat on his back with an _oof!_

"Dragoon!" Leon yelled, brandishing his sword and stepping forward carefully. "What business do you have here?"

"No business, my dear stepstool," the old man said with a smirk. "Just passing through."

"You aren't going anywhere but straight back to the cells beneath Camelot."

"I think not! It stinks down there!"

"Soldiers!" Leon called, and listened to the heavy footfalls of the approaching squad. "You must be tired from whatever that black hole was. You can't fight us all."

Dragoon wiggled his fingers in the air and laughed hoarsely. "You sure about that, eh Leon?"

The men arrived on the edge of the clearing, and quickly took in Brennis knocked out on the ground and the old man held at sword point not far away. "Surround the sorcerer!" Their captain called, and they jumped to heed him.

"Do it and I turn you all to toads!" Dragoon cackled.

They moved forward more warily after that.

"Why did you come here?" Leon said, taking a cautious step forward to test a change in perimeter. The old man was faster than he looked; he remembered that.

"I would lose all my aura of mystery if I told you that!" The old sorcerer made a drawn out _Aaahh_ , and the wrinkles around his face folded into a dastardly grin. "This little clearing has such great energy; can't you feel it?"

The sorcerer raised his hands to perform a spell, and Leon pushed himself to action. "Now!" he yelled and dove forward, the other guards following suit soon after. However, Dragoon just laughed and called ' _Toodle-loo!'_ before disappearing in another maelstrom of air.

In an instant, after they'd all swerved to avoid hitting each other, Leon was left standing wide-eyed at the men around him. Well, at least this time he wasn't flat on the ground after a near-kiss with Percival.

He looked down at the tracks at his feet and could clearly see two boot prints in the empty space where the old man had once stood. If he had been tracking the trail a day later, he would have thought the man had disappeared into thin air.

Looking up at the clearing around him with a clearer eye, glancing over at the downed Brennis and thinking of his comments, he began to worry that the trail they'd followed was more inauspicious than he'd first believed. _Did a large group of sorcerer's travel through here?_

"Drystan, gather Brennis' horse and see if you can get him across its back. Take half of squad and report back to Arthur."

 _And if so, where are they all going?_

* * *

Dragoon the Great arrived with a grand flourish into his humble chambers.

Now that he could teleport without falling on his face, Arthur should look forward to an uptick in rapid-fire insults followed by a vanishing act. Dragoon should pay a visit to the Council during their next meeting. Brennis' face was sure to be priceless.

It took more effort than he cared to admit to extricate himself from the long red robes. His too-long beard and hair nearly tangled him more as he shuffled around in his pockets for the correct potion that would revert him back to his normal self. He appreciated Gaius' concern, and it had come in handy today, but he was certain that in a few days he'd manage the spell without this handicap.

The feeling of hair shrinking back into his skin was never comfortable, and it made him squirm and scratch at his chin. When his youthful cheeks had returned he bounced from the room and into Gaius' workshop below.

"I really think I've gotten the hang of it now."

Gaius didn't even look up from his work, and with the monotone of someone who had grown too used to Merlin's comings and goings over the past few days he said, "I'm sure half of Camelot heard the cyclone in your quarters a moment ago; I'm surprised guards aren't knocking down the doors this instant."

Merlin waved the thought away and began poking around on the shelf of books and scrolls. "By the way, Sir Brennis will make an appearance later today, claiming to have been attacked by a sorcerer. Well I say 'claiming' but it's actually quite true—"

" _Merlin!"_ Gaius swiveled and gave him the patented glare of no recompense.

"If nothing else, it was cathartic," Merlin said while Gaius mumbled something about foolish apprentices ignoring their masters. "Ah hah, got it!"

The youth had seized an old map of Camelot, and he pulled it down from where it had been trapped underneath a stack of other references. With a sweep of his hand he cleared space on their dining table and stretched the scroll across it.

"I'm going to go down to Cornwall tonight; help me find a route."

"Certainly you can't teleport across Albion?"

Merlin shook his head, knowing with any reason he should say 'no' but also knowing the answer was likely 'not yet'. It was a thought he didn't want to think on too much. "I'm planning to go in stages. I can replenish my magic from the surroundings pretty quickly, as long as it isn't a bad spot." Their two cups and bowls made paperweights for the scroll, and he stood straight to connect gazes with the physician. "I need to avoid places where magical blood was spilled."

The sentence unspoken was that Gaius knew of every slaughter because of his years at Uther's side.

"Alright, my boy. I will help you find a safe route to Odin's lands."

* * *

Balin was the son of a carpenter. He was also a guard in Odin's army. No, Odin didn't allow peasants to become knights, but he did allow peasants to become guards, and there was a very lucrative black market for falsified papers that led to many guards suddenly finding a long lost family member with the status of a lesser noble.

He knew he would only have to stick out muddy patrols and late-night shifts for a few more years before he gained an arm of steel and a silver tongue. In fact, his squad leader was starting to look a little senile—perhaps his glory was sooner coming than he thought. All it would take was a few slipped drinks and an inkwell…

Balin's machinations took his attention, and they entertained him as he finished the last leg of his circuit. He waited at the meeting spot for the other unfortunate soul placed on duty tonight, eager to while away some time talking to whoever it may be. Hopefully not Conon—the man was a barbarian.

However, now that he was waiting, the silence was more obviously pervasive. He could not hear steps of an approaching guard and Balin began to wonder if he'd gotten stuck with a deserter as company this long night.

"Bother," he groused, and let out a few further curse words as he started to walk the second guard's path. "If I find you asleep—"

A hand was over his mouth and a force, like no other he'd ever felt, yanked him bodily into a shadowed corner. Whoever was behind him mumbled a word in a strange language— _magic_ —and then he was weightless, floating, disoriented, and deposited in a dank, murky circle of forest.

His stomach rolled with the change in venue, and he felt dizzy and sick. He gagged against the hand gripping his mouth, and it disappeared quickly. Weakly he collapsed on his knees and heaved—keeping his supper down through pure force of will.

When he'd gotten a hold of himself, and hadn't found himself disarmed or dead—the sorcerer was a fool!—Balin drew his sword and whirled. In an instant his sword burned with the fires of hell and he yelled, dropping it.

Cradling his hand, Balin watched the man wave a hand and the sword splinter at their feet. "What do you want?" Balin asked gruffly.

The man—and it must be a man, though there was really no telling under that large, dark cloak—spoke in a raspy whisper. "Honesty."

"Look, there's no love lost between me and the king, ask away." Balin held up his hands and tried to will the sorcerer to not break him too. _What had happened to the other guard?_

"I'm looking for someone very precious to me," the man whispered. The hood cocked to the side, but even still with the new angle he could not see the man's face. "What is your name?"

"B-Balin…" he stammered.

"Do you have a family, Balin?"

The voice was deadly, dangerous, and it left him shaking in his boots. "No, my father is d-dead."

"Mine as well," the voice said commiserating, "but he left me a new kind of family. You can understand why I would want to keep them safe."

The man stepped forward and Balin felt iron cords of magic cinch around his arms and force him to his knees. Desperately, the guard said, "I haven't done anything to your family. I don't even know who you are."

"That's very good, Balin. I don't want to hurt you. Now," he put one pale hand on Balin's head. "How ready do you feel to answer a question?"

Whatever came out of Balin's mouth in that moment was not very intelligible, but no one but he and the sorcerer were around to hear his fear, so his pride laid cast aside.

"Where does Odin keep sorcerers? Where is his prison for creatures of magic?"

"I don't know—" Balin struggled, started to shiver as he felt the bonds tighten around him. "I swear I don't—he uses unbreakable chains, I know he has Cold Iron! Please don't—"

Balin bowed his head as he fought off sobs. He didn't want to die here in the forest, likely after having been tortured by an insane sorcerer. If he could only get out of here alive he would never tease Leni again, and he would stop cheating on—

The invisible bonds slipped away like water, leaving his arms and chest feeling cold where they had once crossed his skin. The sorcerer had moved to stand aside, looking out into the darkness beyond. The man gestured, "The city is that way."

He didn't need to be told twice. Thanking whatever goddesses had looked down on him, the guard tore away for the city's walls, leaving the threatening sorcerer to meld back into the shadows of the forest.

When the guard's pounding footfalls had disappeared into the background, the sorcerer removed his hood.

"Blast it," Merlin said.

* * *

The grey cast of incoming dawn bled through the skies above Camelot. Merlin, as Dragoon, had steadily made his way through his teleportation stops between Cornwall and Camelot, and now leaned against a thin tree half-asleep as he waited for his magic to replenish. He felt bone-tired; utterly physically and magically exhausted. And worst of all, he had nothing to show for it. Aithusa had ignored his dragon-call no matter where he'd yelled, and that had proved she was held somewhere she could not escape.

He didn't want to think she may be dead, or dying. Kilgharrah would have sensed that in the fates, wouldn't he?

Enough of his power had returned to make the last jump to his quarters, and with eyes still closed to capture those last few moments of rest, Merlin mumbled _Astýre_ and felt the tunnel forming about him and through the air, burrowing through stone walls and ending on the third level of the East Tower.

With a small groan he finished the spell, and his jaw cracking with a yawn, Merlin stepped through the tunnel. He did not boast much, but with the way the world usually fell to pieces around his ears in seconds, he could say he at least learned quickly. Now, when he arrived in his chambers, barely a wisp of wind followed.

The potion to return him to his youth was halfway to his lips when he noticed there was another man sitting on his bed.

In the old, croaking voice of Dragoon he said, "Is that you, Gilli?"

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Aithusa is mentioned as a 'he' in the show (briefly) but Katie McGrath says Aithusa is female. Apparently Aithusa's gender is considered unknown. So, I feel that means I get to pick.  
(2) _Astýre_ can roughly translate to 'guide away', and is a shortened version of a spell Morgause has cast to teleport.  
(3) By the end of the fourth season Merlin is no longer verbally using a spell or potion to help age him, nor no longer requiring a potion to return to his normal self. However, holding the spell is exhausting. Using a potion seems to make it easier.  
(4) Thus, "philosopher's wool". It's an old name for zinc oxide, which I only picked because zinc can be used to create white smoke, similar to the smoke Merlin is blasted with the first time he makes the potion.

 **Author's Note:**

As a nickname, do you prefer Maj or Siress or Quinevere for when Merlin is feeling plucky? Maj is the only legitimate one from historical times—the others I've made up. Also, I'm definitely not going to ever use long-winded spells. I don't think it reads well, even if it sounded cool in the show. I like abbreviating them into single words anyway.

Merlin did search the general dungeons but didn't find Aithusa there. He would have done that before interrogating guards. He got a little dark here, but I liked it. Plus everyone seemed to like Merlin being a bit of a badass last chapter, so I'm crossing my fingers this time will go over well too.

And Dragoon! Colin Morgan did such a fantastic job making Dragoon so comedic—wish I could have channeled him more while writing Dragoon. Oh well, it was fun to finally write him! And Kilgharrah as well—he was difficult. Anyone else ever notice that "Dragoon the Great" is an inverse of "The Great Dragon"? I didn't realize that before this chapter.

This chapter wasn't beta'd, because I was terrible and never sent it to Linorien to be checked. Here's to hoping it makes sense. And cheers to Jewelsmg for getting me stuck on a Colin Morgan YouTube spree, smh. PMs inbound for reviewers, watch for them, and thanks to everyone!

 **Next time** : Two Can Keep A Secret…if one of them is dead.


	24. Two Can Keep A Secret

—

 **Two Can Keep a Secret  
** _(If One of Them is Dead)  
August_

 _In the old, croaking voice of Dragoon he said, "Is that you, Gilli?"_

Gilli—a broad shouldered youth with a mean look in his eye and a penchant for illegal magical acts—said, "Who are you?" and began to twist a ring on his finger.

Dragoon bade him pause and downed the de-aging potion with a premature grimace. His skin tightened, his hair receded, and then he was again Merlin—just dressed in Gaius' cloak. " _Ta-da_."

Gilli shook his head in disbelief. "I almost blasted you," he chuckled.

The youth was still using his father's ring as a magic source, and a quick survey of the stored energies made the claim laughable, but of course Merlin did not mention that. Instead, he joked, "So did you sneak in here just to threaten me, or…."

Gilli scratched at his short brunette hair. "I actually need some help, and you're the only person I know who wouldn't shy away. How does that sound?"

"It's sounding illegal. Nothing illegal before breakfast." Merlin wrestled with the cloak and exited the room, clomping blindly down the stairs. Gaius snored on in his bunk. "How does porridge sound?"

His eyes flashed to conjure and boil water, and another burn of magic tipped a spoon of lackluster dry oats into the rattling bowl. He put his head onto folded arms and let his magic stir the congealing meal, feeling thoroughly incapable of physical movement.

Gilli had followed from his room, and now stood over Merlin watching the twin bowls of food steadily becoming edible, if you could call gruel edible. "I'm tempted to pass."

"You can feed me then," Merlin joked. He savored the last few seconds of shut-eye, then sat up and started shoveling food in his mouth. The less he tasted it, the better. Around a mouthful of slop he said, "I think I'm capable of being serious now."

"You're hardly capable of rational thought," Gilli scoffed. "Maybe I should just come back tonight."

"Is it already 'tonight' and not 'tomorrow night'?" Merlin mourned. "Look, I won't be able to sleep for wondering, so just tell me."

The young man sighed and settled onto the wooden table opposite Merlin, sliding the second bowl of oatmeal over to himself. His sudden reticence made Merlin think this may be direr than he thought. "There's a slave girl I want to free."

 _Scratch that. Just romantic troubles._ "Heartsick?"

"You said you would be serious."

"Never promised."

Gilli scowled at him, and the angry young man Merlin had first met those many years ago showed himself once more. Gilli buried that man quickly, but stared with sharp intelligence at Merlin's exhausted form. "I've heard an old sorcerer is wanted in Camelot for killing Uther."

"Is that supposed to be blackmail?"

Gilli ate a spoonful of the porridge slowly, his other hand fiddling with his ring again. "You didn't let me kill him. I find it curious that you changed your tune so drastically."

"Uther was a tyrant, but I didn't kill him." Merlin said quietly. "Morgana did."

"That's unfortunate," Gilli said bitterly. "I was hoping you'd tell me if he begged, and what it felt like to drain his disgusting life."

Despite parting as friends, Merlin could not overlook Gilli's ruthless streak. "It hardened Arthur's heart against magic," Merlin defended firmly, "and it's set your freedom back by years, so try not to look so gleeful."

Gilli smiled wryly. "We've had this argument before." He bent down and hurriedly spooned the cooling porridge into his mouth. The top of his head was all the apology he would give, and he expected none from Merlin. "But I didn't come here to argue." He looked up, and Merlin blue eyes were practically glowing at him in the gloom of early morning. "So are you going to help me or not?"

* * *

Merlin decided he really needed to learn how to say no. He needed to learn how to turn someone in need away.

Though, he'd done just that with Morgana, and look where that had got them.

 _Ugh_ , he thought, trying to banish thoughts of her—knowing if he got caught on them he wouldn't be able to catch the little bit of sleep he'd been nearing. He had barely gotten an hour's slumber that morning, and had been able to worm in a spare nap or two throughout the day while his chores magically completed themselves, but unsurprisingly that hadn't been very restful. He'd had to hide under Arthur's bed while he 'slept', just in case.

It hadn't been his finest hour, nor his most intelligent. But that's what sleep deprivation did to a person.

It was now a few hours after sunset, and he and Gilli were teleporting their way across Albion. Well, Merlin was doing the teleporting while Gilli was doing the retching behind bushes. Even with the sound in his ears, the dewy grass beneath his cheek felt like a feather pillow and would have lulled him to sleep in a few more moments if the warrior hadn't finally emerged, wiping a hand across the back of his mouth.

"That wasn't any better the second time."

"Well prepare yourself, because we still have one more jump to make."

Did he mention that Gilli's forbidden love affair had occurred with a slave girl in Amata? Even worse: with one of the Sarrum's personal dancers? This was a bad story waiting to happen.

Gilli took a gulp of water from his hip flask, swishing it around in his mouth. "I've been thinking," he gargled, before spitting everything with a wet splash at his feet. "We'll need disguises."

* * *

He really _really_ needed to learn how to say no.

This took the cake. Had he thought he had pride? What a truly laughable concept.

 _'Disguises'—_ to think, the ever powerful Emrys tricked by such a simple word!

 _Of course_ , the Sarrum's dancers were kept in their own lavish quarters, where no other men could lay eyes on them. _Just perfect._

Merlin griped, staring at his reflection in a pool of clear water. _No men allowed._ His usually wild raven hair had lengthened to brush his shoulders, his face had narrowed to a more fey point, and, oh spirits, he had _breasts_.

The adventures of Merlynn and Gilliana. He would never live this down.

Eventually he did plan to tell Arthur everything. One day, there would be no more lies. But, this story may disappear under the category of horrible fever-dream. He _was_ half-dead on his feet, so technically he could be dreaming, right?

"Here," Gilli, _Gilliana?_ , said with a smirk. A bundle of fine silks smacked him in the chest. His _bountiful_ chest. _Fie!_

Merlin looked up at his companion, who had picked up on the tricks of glamour after a short tutorial from Merlin. Though, even with the pretty green silk tied around Gilli's small chest to leave his stomach bare, and his brunette hair thin and wispy at his back, he still looked much more like a cross-dresser than Merlin could ever hope too.

Yes, he was disappointed to have been so good at this particular kind of glamour. The girl staring back at him from the water was sending him into a panic. She was making his balls recede. This was the stuff of nightmares.

 _Oh gods, just stop thinking about it._ He peeled his tunic from his body and started wrapping himself in the band of silk his partner-in-crime had snatched. It matched his eyes perfectly.

When he was fully dressed, hands propped on a good set of berthing hips, he glowered at his sort-of-friend. It probably just came across as cute and pouty, because Gilli started snorting with laughter.

He was further mortified half an hour later when a guard grabbed his ass.

And if only that had been the worst of it. He would have given his right hand to be invisible. There had to be a spell for that, right?! At this rate, he _would_ lose his right hand after a thorough washing with lye soap. He'd received so many slobbery kisses upon it he was afraid a pair of lips would be permanently etched there. His unfortunate feminine wiles were practically their key through the castle.

The last stretch of hallway before the dancer's chambers had Gilli in fits after the latest wolf-whistle. Merlin muttered darkly at him.

" _She had better be worth it, because I'm going to have you vomiting your pancreas by the time I'm through with you."_

Luckily, Gilli's giggles, and Merlin's less idle threats, were hidden behind the band of cloth covering the lower half of their face. It gave them an illusion of demure that saved their lives.

When they arrived at the door of the dancer's chambers, a curtain of heavy velvet, and Merlin had just reached the part about Gilli's future life as a donkey, none other than the Sarrum swept through.

Merlin squeaked (yes, squeaked, he was female).

This was his first time meeting the king of Amata, and his initial impression was that of a ghoul's head. The Sarrum's deep-set eyes and balding head had the look of a skull wrapped in sagging skin. His expression was cunning and his smile full of greed, and in that instant Merlin believed him capable of all the heinous acts he'd heard of through word of mouth.

He had a strange desire to burn him with breath of fire.

He refrained.

He shouldn't have.

The Sarrum's gaze trickled up Merlynn's long legs and settled on the arcing neck visible beneath his mask. The greedy little mouth came closer to him, hot air washing over his stuck out ears and—

Well, he must have blacked out.

Merlin's memory skipped straight from the Sarrum's hand on his waist to the echoey silence of an empty hallway.

The drapes of the dancers' chambers hung in frigid stillness, and swiveling his head round showed Gilli was long gone. Surely he wouldn't have left without saying something? Though perhaps he had, and whatever safe place Merlin's mind had gone was too far away to hear him.

He figured forward was the only way to go, so he used a delicate hand to push aside the curtain. Had Gilli called the room lavish? Because Merlin had considered the royal chambers in Camelot lavish. This place made Arthur and Gwen look like peasants.

Silks and fabrics and pillows covered every inch of the stone. Plush couches and thick carpets provided a place for the women to titter, and they reclined and gossiped in the opulence like characters in an impossible painting. Gilli was not within sight—though there were side rooms hidden behind other layers of fabric.

A few girls looked at him in curiosity. They were beautiful. But, then again, so was he. In an effort to act casual, his willowy frame collapsed into a pile of cushions, and he grabbed a bundle of grapes from a passing servant-girl.

He needed to think of a way to find Gilli. The questioning looks he was receiving told him that no other strange women had appeared in these rooms, so that only left the possibility that Gilli had gone with the Sarrum.

The thought was chilling, and Merlin's eyes tracked to the entrance, wondering how soon he could leave without raising more suspicion. What was the etiquette here? Did women leave at any hour of the night? Curse Arthur for not having a harem.

He felt eyes on him, and Merlin glanced back to the room at large. There, in the center surrounded by many of the younger girls, was a vision in red. She was elder than him, perhaps similar in age to Mistress Vanora, but was far more elegant than dowager. When the blue of his eyes connected with her deep black, her painted lips tilted upward. In the foreign language known only to Amatans she asked him a short question.

Nod and smile, right? You'd think the language of magic, the language of dragons, and the common tongue would have been enough to converse in the land of Albion, but _no_ ….

Stuffing grapes into his mouth saved him from answering. Unfortunately, it did not save him from every female in the room turning and staring at him. He gulped and wished desperately that Zuhair had taught him a few phrases instead of how to juggle.

Whispers started, confusion steadily becoming suspicion, and so he held his hands up in supplication. "Please," he said, in the common tongue, "I just needed to hide from my father."

The red woman stepped towards him, sultry and deadly and wicked, and brushed a thumb over the sleep-blemished skin underneath his eye. "Poor dear." Her hand slipped to the base of his skull and deftly untied his mask hiding his nose and mouth. She titled his chin back and forth, studying his face.

It was unnerving, but at least the face he wore would never be recognized.

The cold calculation hidden in her gaze sunk him further into the plush cushions. "Who are you, love?"

"Just a servant," he said softly. "Please, just for a few hours."

It was a testament to just how exhausted he was that even with the adrenaline spiking through him, his limbs felt leaden and his eyes scratchy and woolen. Was it obvious he could barely stand and fight?

The woman shared an unreadable glance with one of the other girls, and soon a chalice was shoved in his hands, a ruby wine swirling in its depths. He had hardly come across a chalice in his years in Albion that led to good things, but his exhaustion coupled with their suspicion meant there would be no teleportation any time soon.

It only took one sip of the wine to feel the thick blanket of sleep rolling over him, and someone pulled the cup from his hand and yanked him from the warm couch. His legs already felt unsteady and he again wondered where Gilli had gone off to. Had they drugged him too? He couldn't stay awake—

It was dark.

He was lying on his back. He was also on the ground, and there was a thick blanket or cushion underneath him. He felt hot and stifled. He couldn't move his arms.

His wrists were bound with iron chains, and they were so tight his hands were almost completely numb. He pushed with his magic, and felt it slide harmlessly off the cold metal. With mounting worry he muttered more spells only to feel numbness creep further up his arm.

 _Focus_ , he thought. _Focus._ The crystallized spell surrounding the chains slipped through his vision like a mirage. The more he squinted to see them, the less stable they seemed. He felt weak, nauseous in an empty way, like he'd puked up his stomach but his head was still swimming.

Despite whatever rest he'd caught while drugged, he still felt bone-weary. He grit his teeth and welled his magic again, this time forcing it like the thinnest spike at the spells around him. If a spell can't break it, then break the spell itself, right?

In the flickering magic around him, he felt the chain's spell begin to shatter in places, loosen in others, and then his hand went completely numb and he lost hold of his spike. The chains were so _tight…_

His thoughts stuttered to a halt. His captors hadn't tightened the manacle…his wrist had just grown too large. In a panic he looked down at his silk-clad, definitely-not-female body and blanched.

"Finally awake," a sultry voice crooned, and the woman in red entered through a doorway at his feet. It was difficult to lift his head to view her from his prone position on the floor, especially in the dim light, but he saw her arched eyebrows raise and watched her lean back out into the space beyond. "Get the Sarrum. There has been an interesting turn of events."

Merlin thought to flee, to fight, but rationally he knew he didn't have enough energy to do much besides lay there. If he pooled his magic now, he may have enough to at least hide his identity when the Sarrum arrived.

In her right hand she held a thin, needle-like dagger and his eyes didn't leave it as she approached. He had enough magic to keep her from killing him—he would always have at least that. She pressed the metal to his collarbone. "Get enough sleep, sāhir?"

Red stepped over his bound feet, balancing on her knees either side of his hip. "It was quite comfortable," he replied with a wince, as the dagger drew a thin line down to his sternum.

"You made a mistake. A mole in a den of spies is nothing but blind."

"You've got me mixed up with someone else," he tried. "I'm just a servant."

"I know all the excuses in the book of fugitives," she snarled. "' _I didn't mean to—he made me do it.'_ " The dagger slipped lower and poked into the soft flesh within his belly button. He squirmed uncomfortably. "Tell the truth. Why did you come here, sāhir?"

"I was trying to be a good friend, and it backfired." He closed his eyes and focused on the raw magic coalescing in his gut. Despite the danger to his identity, the danger to his life was growing with each step her messenger took towards the Sarrum. Though, perhaps the dagger was poisoned and he was already dying. That would be his luck. "You keep calling me 'sāhir'. What is that?"

"You don't know, spy? You'll burn for it soon enough."

The needle went up and then plunged nearly an inch into the flesh above his hip. He shoved her away with a hoarse cry, his magic reacting instantly. Blood was spilling in dark rivulets over his pale skin, and he wondered just how things had gone so south so quickly.

"The Sarrum will hunt down all of your kind," she hissed, slumped against the wall. "With Etu Sarratum already here, what chance do you have?"

"As long as the Once and Future King lives, there is a chance."

His magic was thoroughly and utterly depleted. He couldn't even light a candle—and the red woman was getting up.

 _Kilgharrah can't save you this time._ Escape was impossible.

"I wonder how long that tune will last after the Sarrum arrives." She brought the blade up again, sneered, and carved a welt along his taut arm. "Everyone has a secret. You'll be happy to tell it soon enough."

The needle pressed into the tip of his finger, and the woman sat down cross-legged beside him and started to dig out his nail. His hand was far too numb to feel the pain, and that gave him an advantage he hadn't expected—if you could call being tortured an advantage.

He yelled loudly, she couldn't really expect him to answer her questions while screaming, and while he yelled his mind whirled with thoughts. Ultimately, he knew he could not stay here. Escape may have been impossible for a warlock, but he wasn't just a warlock, was he? After years of imprisoning magic users, and fine-tuning their methods, yes, for all intents and purposes, escape was impossible. However, _he_ was impossible.

He'd done this before, in a way. He'd seen the magic of the earth when battling the Sidhe. Then, he'd thrown himself into the magic. Now, he'd throw the magic back into him.

 _Remember how it felt,_ he thought, _how it felt to BE magic._

His nail skittered across the floor. His mind opened to the world around him, and the roaring chaos nearly made him lose his concept of reality. Dimly, he was aware of the blade digging into the tender flesh his nail had revealed, and tried to use the dull pain to ground himself.

His efforts to control the raw, unfiltered magic around him were paper fans in a storm. Drawing that chaos within him was drinking from a waterfall. It could destroy him just as easily as save him.

Whatever pain he felt left. He was alone in a maelstrom. He opened his eyes and a bolt of lightning burst from his chest and slammed into the ceiling with a scream of thunder. Static danced along his skin and distantly he was aware he'd snapped his bonds.

The woman cowered. The stone of the floors and walls had saved her from electrocution.

She turned to flee, but he was on his feet in a moment and held her wrist tight in his fist. The blade clattered onto the ground between them. "You're not human," she quavered.

" _Merlin!"_

He glanced up, and golden irises connected with Gilli's shocked pair. The other man, still glamoured as female, held a stranger's sword and tugged a waif of a girl behind him. She wore the silks of the dancers, and that was all Merlin chose to acknowledge before glowering at his friend. "If you're going to say my name, at least don't shout it."

"Are you kidding me right now—the entire castle heard you! The Sarrum will be here any minute."

Merlin shoved the red woman to the back wall, and gestured Gilli and the girl closer. "I can teleport us out."

Guards could clearly be heard approaching in clangs of armor, but even as the dancer put a hand on his arm, Gilli turned to the woman on the back wall, who had remained conspicuously silent. The blood covering Merlin told enough of the story, however. "How much does she know?"

"Nothing," Merlin said dismissively. "Let's go, we don't have the time."

He reached a hand out for Gilli, but his friend dodged. "Nothing except your name, what you look like, and that you have magic." There was a dark ruthlessness in his eye, and in two steps his body morphed from the female into the warrior he was. He brought the sword back—

" _No!"_

—And plunged it into her heart.

* * *

A rush of magic, the sickening spin of the tunnel, then the disorientation of landing in a far-off place.

The dancer's dainty hand slipped from Merlin's arm as she collapsed into the grass, and Gilli fell onto his knees, thrown off-balance. Merlin strode forward—the blood still running from his hip ignored. When he reached Gilli, he spun the man around. " _You killed her!"_

"There was no choice!"

"She was helpless! She may have been an enemy but she had surrendered—"

"I've heard enough about her!" Gilli gestured at the half-fainted dancer. "She would have killed us given the chance. Look at your hand for spirits sake!"

"This is what I'm always trying to tell you—tell everyone! It doesn't have to be Us and Them; there would have been another way to stop her—"

"What? What way, Merlin? There was no time for that!"

They were roaring at each other now. Even though they were in the clearing where they'd stashed their clothes, they weren't so far away that an enterprising guard wouldn't overhear them. Sina looked nervously about, and stood on unbalanced feet.

"There is never an excuse for going on a murderous frenzy for your own personal goals—it makes us no different than Uther."

"Don't judge what I do to survive. You think what _you_ do is so much better? How much more magical blood is going to be spilled before you pick a side?" Sina put a tentative hand on Gilli's shoulder. It didn't stop him. "When are you going to learn that your king isn't ever going to help _us?_ "

In a black fury, Merlin rent his hand through the air, and the action glued the other man's mouth shut. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he replied in a deadly whisper. He had to distance himself.

He strode away, picking up his clothes as he went. In raw motions he bound a strip of silk over the hot burn of the injury on his hip, and another to the thin slash on his arm. The few moments spent putting his proper clothes on didn't help, and he returned as livid as he'd left. Without a word he clapped a hand to Gilli and Sina's shoulders and teleported away.

* * *

The second tunnel dropped them at the border of Camelot and Essetir. He had left Gilli and Sina there to fend for themselves in short order. Besides, after he'd removed the silencing spell, Gilli and he had quite thoroughly decided they had nothing further to say to each other.

The last jump took him outside the walls of the castle grounds, and into the shadows of the royal stables. Over the past few days he had made the jump into his chambers countless times, and the fact that he'd landed so far off left him stunned.

He wandered unsteadily out into the grass around the stable and stared blearily at the pitch dark land around him. He wanted to blame the shocking misstep on exhaustion, or blood loss, or even distraction after his argument, but he knew it was none of those things.

There was something strange about the raw magic he'd channeled.

It felt—it was hard to put his finger on it—less controllable. Like trying to turn a fist-sized chunk of ice into a snowflake.

He shook his head of the thought and worked his way around the walls, searching for one of the back gates that he could slip through. Even feeling as odd as it was, his magic protected him. The painful throb of his injuries hit him with every heartbeat, but his magic held the blood within his body. He needed Gaius to stitch him up before he blacked out from exhaustion.

When he saw the shadow of a guard in his way, he gave up trying to be sneaky and pushed a balloon of frozen energy about himself. He didn't have the mental acuity to be subtle. It was easy to make it past the guards this way, and his little focus wasn't wasted on staying hidden.

As it was, it kept trailing back to his brief conversation with Sina before they'd parted ways. He had asked her, well perhaps barked at her, for a translation of the red woman's words. If Sarrum meant king, then what was Etu Sarratum? What weapon had he gained?

"It's not a weapon," she had replied quietly. "She is the Dark Queen."

Merlin drug a hand over his face, and slumped onto the wall outside Gaius' chambers. _The Dark Queen is in Amata._

He had been so close, and had not noticed.

 _Morgana is with the Sarrum._

* * *

 _Secret sung by Angel Snow_

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) I found out the word 'Sarrum' comes from ancient Sumerian. So, I stole a few words from that language this time around, like Sina. I mostly used Arabic though. "Etu sarrutum" is a made up mixture of the two languages.  
(2) Sāhir means sorcerer.

 **Author's Note:** There are literally no caffeine plants native to England. Poor Merlin. I really tried to find him one.

This one started super lighthearted and got super dark. I hope it blindsided everyone. A little more torture for poor Merlin…StarlightInHerEyes22 I'm looking at you…and just so many other things to comment on. I have a lot of emotions for Gilli—he started out ruthless, still tried to kill Uther, and then changed his tune at the very end of the episode. I think this argument was more in keeping with his character, and I think Merlin had to have this argument again.

Maybe it seems weird that Merlin would have defended the red woman. I know Merlin will kill someone if they deserve it. However, I also think Merlin wouldn't kill someone in 'cold' blood. Also, he is so much more powerful than most, that killing others is like assassination, even if it is justified. I defend my choice for now.

Also, I don't think these chains are like Morgause's chains, but more like Kilgharrah's. Magic is still available to the wearer, but breaking the chains is difficult, if not impossible.

Finally…Morgana. Except not even her, just the mention of her, again. She's played such a role in this story, and yet she hasn't even spoken a single word.

As for reviews, Fanfiction was being odd this past week and I couldn't read them until today. Suffice to say this was a great day. Reviews are lifeblood, inspiration, my own modern-day magic. Look out for PMs. I wanted to discuss a general sentiment, but those were mostly Gilli, BAMF!Merlin, and Aithusa. Gilli and Merlin-blowing-minds made appearances this chapter so not much to mention here, except I do think that Merlin isn't quite at Emrys status yet, like in the Series 5 finale, but I like how he's getting closer. As for Aithusa, I fully plan on giving her the storyline that I always wanted for her, and I think was originally intended for her.

Linorien, thank you for the comments that make me chuckle while straightening out so much, and for sharpening a pitchfork over my failure with ellipses! And to Jewelsmg, you have introduced me to a world of Colin Morgan movies and TV shows _and I can't thank you enough._ Get better soon, sicky!

 **Next time** : Magic Incarnate.


	25. Magic Incarnate

**—**

 **Magic Incarnate**  
 _August_

Gaius stirred his thin soup of barley and turnips and did what he usually did when alone during supper—worried about Merlin.

The young man had been nearly delirious with lack of sleep when he'd jauntily waved and teleported off with Gilli earlier that evening. He had acted like breaking into the Sarrum's castle was nothing, and as if the ability to teleport away at the scent of danger meant he would be safe. Gaius knew many who had died from that hubris, but he couldn't bear to tell their stories. And so Merlin had left, and Gaius had remained, stewing in his own guilt.

When he could delay no longer, he lay in his cot, drifting on the surface of sleep. The smallest sounds brought him alert, every flicker of shadow a reminder that Merlin might return injured at any moment, and the lack of his presence proof it may already be too late. He thought he may not have slept at all, but in the depths of the night, a dry, gravelly voice woke him gently. "Sorry to wake you, Gaius."

"My boy," Gaius sat up as quickly as his old body would allow, and put his hands on Merlin's pale cheeks. The boy's regretful tone and the hour of the night gave enough reason for the fear to return. "Are you hurt?"

"Just a little," Merlin conceded. "I need help with the stitching." He drew back, grasping the cloth of his tunic and peeling it from his body. Gaius saw the makeshift wrappings then, bound tightly about his arm and hip.

"What happened?" He asked softly, painfully.

"I got knifed up by a woman, and she didn't even have magic." Merlin cracked a smile, and Gaius had to close his eyes to not see Merlin's efforts to shrug away the situation. His charge always did this. Merlin would return broken, emotionally or physically, and then he would make a joke. He didn't want Gaius to worry over him.

He started at the wrap on Merlin's arm, but the man pointed him toward his hip instead. That bit of silk revealed a deep puncture wound, bubbling with blood but not spilling over—Merlin's magic at work.

"Can you bring a needle and thread? And some hot water to clean the wound," Gaius asked.

Merlin was uncharacteristically quiet, then his hand seized on the table and their bucket was speeding in the air towards them. Gaius ducked in surprise, and Merlin twisted, reaching out an arm to freeze the bucket in a second burst of magic before it smashed into pieces on the opposing wall. Blood gushed from his side and he pulled back, clasping a hand over his hip with a hiss. "I'm having trouble controlling it."

"You're exhausted," Gaius explained, trying to say it was reasonable to make such a mistake. "Try saying the words aloud; it will help your focus."

Gaius stood and hobbled over to the bucket in the dark, then gathered the needle and thread on his own, listening for Merlin's hushed efforts to quell the bloodflow. By the time he returned, Merlin had quenched the bleeding, but was looking much paler.

He was hesitant to ask for the water again, and debated drawing some from their stores and heating it the old fashioned way. It would be the first time he'd needed to in years.

"I can do it," Merlin said, and pulled the bucket towards him with his mangled hand. He took a deep, steadying breath, and on his exhale said, _"Brimstréam."_

A cyclone of water appeared above the bucket, spiraling up to the ceiling and spinning in a fury before collapsing with a large splash, water sloshing over the sides and onto the table. Gaius said nothing, only picking up a clean rag and dipping it within.

"Gaius, my magic feels…wrong."

He didn't want to push him. Instead, he curled his hand around Merlin's injured one and asked softly, "Please tell me what happened."

Merlin went silent, and Gaius stood to gather his bedside candle. He threaded the needle by its light, years of experience making the action quick. He held the small bit of metal over the candle's flame until he felt the heat in his fingers, then passed the thread through the fire to burn off any impurities. "Be ready," he warned, and pinched Merlin's wound shut.

Merlin grit his teeth and hissed when the needle pushed into his skin. Gaius had made two tight loops when Merlin finally began to explain. "I was completely drained…and then I think I channeled the earth's magic, or absorbed it…I don't know. I feel sick." Gaius frowned and finished his third diagonal before tying a quick knot. "What's happening to me?"

As he went back over the wound with another three loops, Gaius' mind ran rapidly over everything he'd ever read or heard about magic, but Merlin had blown away those magical guidelines from nearly his first day in Camelot. "We're beyond a realm I've ever explored," he mulled. "But I know we are all natural sieves for the magic of the world. I can only imagine what it would do to cast that aside." When three tight x's held tight the hole in Merlin's hip, Gaius studied Merlin's arm and finger. The nail was completely gone, and a wound in the skin underneath had formed a large clot. Gaius had seen many nails fly off of squires because of blunt trauma, and he knew this was not an accidental wound. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the ache in his chest. "You must rest, at least until your magic is stable."

Merlin's head jerked down in a nod, and he extricated himself from Gaius' grasp. While Gaius remained at the table, Merlin paced slowly to the jug of apple vinegar on the shelf, and after unwrapping the silk from his arm, doused the cloth in the acid. He paused to press a hand to his abdomen and swayed in place. "It _really_ feels strange, Gaius."

"You gathered every partially formed, or polluted, or broken fragment of magic around you." Gaius said sternly, because sometimes that was the only tone of voice Merlin listened to. "You have put yourself in danger, and by extension, the king. Please, for all of our sakes, rest and allow me to tend to you."

For a span Gaius could only anxiously watch Merlin's back, but then the young man returned, an apologetic smile on his lips. "Thank you for being here, Gaius." Gaius wanted to embrace him, but instead bullied him into his own cot before resting himself on a stool.

Methodically Gaius began to disinfect the injuries, and at first Merlin's breaths were shallow and pained, but eventually the lack of sleep and the comfort of safety made his eyelids flutter, and he fell into a dreamless slumber.

Gaius wrapped cotton around Merlin's finger, and in the last few hours before dawn, stroked a hand over his nephew's raven hair.

* * *

The fourth kingdom of the realm was Alba to the far north, led by Queen Catrina, the sole remaining survivor of the House of Tregor. She was brunette and fair-skinned, supposedly kind and gracious, and hobbled from an incurable bone disease.

Gwen knew all of these things, and yet she had never truly met her. Any true exchange she'd had with the other queen had been filtered through royal missives and the propriety required for powerful allies.

This was why the wedding gift caught her somewhat unawares. She wasn't quite sure what to do with it. For one, it was ten foot long, and for another, it was quite morbid.

"When did you get that?"

Gwen looked over her shoulder to find Merlin yawning from the opposite side of the Solar. "This afternoon."

Her friend wove forward, boots scuffing against the floor. He studied the gift alongside her, and at this range she could clearly see the dark bags under his eyes. "What battle is that?"

He was referring to the gift—which in essence was a gruesome depiction of a historical battle fought under Uther's banner. The scene was sewn in delicate needlepoint on a rich tapestry of color and cloth. "Arthur tells me it's the Battle of Arderydd." She pointed out the Pendragon crest on the left side of the panorama. "It's a battle that made Uther infamous. Likely it was a gift begun for the funeral, but only completed now." Near Uther were banners of his other allies during that battle, which she proceeded to point out—the black of Deorham, the brown of Amata.

There was no need to explain the right half of the scene. Faceless, nameless monsters needed no translation.

"This is just the tapestry the outhouses needed."

"Merlin!" Gwen gasped, then lightly smacked him on the arm. "It is an expensive, intricate gift. We must appreciate that at least." Merlin winced, and she believed it to be theatrics. She offered a secretive smile. "I have no choice but to hang it for the sake of healthy relations. Where would you display it, if you actually wished to keep it hidden?"

Merlin shrugged. "The Council Chambers? It's dark, and everyone will be distracted by arguments."

"That's true," Gwen conceded, "but it might be rude, considering."

He tilted his head towards her, eyebrow quirking. "Considering what?"

At full height, Merlin was nearly a whole head taller than her. But when she turned to connect their gaze she realized he was slouched much further over than she had expected. "The Druids."

She watched the blue of his eyes cloud over as they slowly processed, and she pulled his attention with a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you well?"

Merlin's demeanor changed in an instant. Suddenly he was smiling that face-wrinkling smile that turned his eyes to half-moons and pushed his ears into his hair. "Fit as a fiddle."

Arthur had mentioned that Merlin was acting dopier than normal, but he hadn't been able to hide his concern from her. She'd promised to talk to Merlin, and now she realized that her friend would need to be ordered. "You're exhausted," and, really, the macho-man act didn't work against her. "You're going to bed."

She turned him about, facing him back toward the stairwell. "I don't want to lay down," Merlin grimaced. "Let's go hang that thing instead—" he yawned and she heard the rustle of cloth as the tapestry must have re-furled.

"I'll be taking Geoffrey of Monmouth, and he will be all the help I'll need. Now, do I need to march you to your chambers myself?"

"What about Arth—"

"I don't want to hear any more, Merlin! I've never seen someone fight so hard against time off." Gwen paused in her corral of him to look at him quite sternly. "I know how difficult juggling duties can be, and neither Arthur or I want to see you collapse. Promise me, Merlin, that I won't see you roaming the halls until you're fully rested."

He blew air through his cheeks, and swayed slightly on his feet. Perhaps he thought she didn't see him subtly reach for the handrail near the stairwell. "Fair enough, Gwen."

She listened to his heavy footfalls, waited for him to call out one more excuse to her when he reached the lower chamber, but none came. Instead she heard the clank of the heavy wooden door, and tried to shrug the concern off. Perhaps she had laid it on a bit thick.

It took a few minutes to roll the tapestry into a manageable state, and then another period of time to coordinate it and her voluminous skirts back down the narrow stairs. She was in the castle-proper for less than a blink before a guard offered to carry it for her, and she was lucky to find Geoffrey still on duty. Together, the three of them arranged the tapestry along the long hallway in the Hall of Records until it hung even.

Only then, when she had a chance to step back and study the scene once again, did she think, _Had the depiction of Uther's army always had eyes so red?_

* * *

Something felt off about his magic. Like his skull was a size too big for his brain, or like a buzzing white noise echoed just outside his field of awareness.

After another night of little rest he had moved from exhaustion into a haze. His waking world was covered in a filter of dreams, his consciousness tripping over and focusing in on seemingly mundane objects, while his periphery tricked him with scenery that was never there.

He should never have channeled that raw energy. It wanted to return to chaos, and it was dragging him there one step at a time.

"There you are, mate, I spent all afternoon looking for you."

Merlin turned his head, blearily focusing in on Gwaine approaching from a side hallway. "Why?"

Gwaine stopped before him. "You look awful."

"I feel awful."

"Then I understand why you flaked." Gwaine patted the sword at his hip. "You forgot we were going to practice?"

Merlin's eyes tracked from the sword, to Gwaine's left hand, then to Gwaine's face, which had a friendly grin spread across it. Sluggishly he connected the dots, but words escaped him.

"I'll take that as a yes," Gwaine said in amusement, then slung an arm around his shoulders. "We'll reschedule. Have you forgotten how to get to your chambers too? I have much experience escorting young maidens…." When Merlin only blinked at him in sluggish comprehension, his lack of a witty response apparent, Gwaine whistled lowly. "You're more sick than I thought."

Merlin shook his head. "I'm getting better. We can still practice if you need."

"Learn how to say no, mate, obviously you need to sleep."

Merlin shook his head again. He was nauseated enough as it was, and lying down would only intensify the feeling. Working through the bad magic would be the only way this would pass, and sleep would just prolong it. At least, that's what he thought, and hoped.

Gwaine would hear none of his pleas, however, and in a strange blink of memory where he was not quite sure what had transpired, he ended up wavering in the doorway of the physician's quarters. Gaius was out, he noticed, and then he was on the stairwell to his room and through his thin wooden door.

He thought that he'd try some simple, safe spells, ones that if out of control would be easily subdued. He sat on his cot, put his heavy head into his hands, pressed his palms into his eyes until spots danced. He tried to think of something but his mind was cotton, his stomach rolling, and then he was disoriented and empty, then suddenly healthy and whole.

Merlin blinked blue eyes open, and found himself on a similar cot, but pushed into a corner along a wall of fabric. Sunlight streamed through the tapering cloth and he realized he was in a tent. Vaguely he thought he heard Gaius' voice coming from outdoors, and he wondered if he had somehow teleported without meaning to. Was he with the Druids?

He got to his feet without the now familiar curl of his gut, and he realized quickly how absolutely filled his felt, how complete. His magic was streaming within him, sending tingles through his skin, and its richness was sustenance and sanity.

A wide smile on his face Merlin strode for the outdoors, breathing in the magically-laden air with a greedy suck of his nostrils. Gaius' voice came again from a much larger tent, its exterior tan and held with stakes in the soft soil beneath it. To Merlin's side a field spread before him, dipping down into a valley before climbing another grassy hill. The smoke of many fires could be seen twisting into the sky.

The front flap of the tent moved aside as he approached, and a young knight pushed past him while Merlin ducked through the opening. Within, a long rectangular plank rested on a barrel, acting as a makeshift table, and a group of richly-dressed men gathered round it. They didn't take notice of him as he slipped into a corner.

"It's not too late, sire. Perhaps I could talk to them." That was Gaius again, and Merlin searched for his face in the crowd, and when he spied it was struck with a wave of confusion.

Gaius looked young. With fewer wrinkles, and a stronger back, the old physician had the scent of youthful strength about him. His greying hair was only focused on his temples, and his brown hair hunk lank to his shoulders. He looked so much like Hunith that their relation could not be called into question. And he had called someone _sire_ ….

Uther turned towards him and Merlin's knees nearly buckled. But the old king's eyes passed through, beyond, to men whom were actually visible. "The time for talking to these creatures is long past. Now we must act, and act swiftly."

A brown-cloaked man, and his face looked— _spirits_ it was the _Sarrum_ , said, "They fight without honor. The longer we wait, the more likely we'll see a knife come through our back."

"I know they were once your friends, Gaius," Uther continued, "but look at what they have done to our people and our lands during their rampage across the countryside. Crops no longer grow in our fields. Surely you see them for what they are, now."

Men nodded, expressions a mixture of sick glee and toadying smiles.

"They are a kind corrupted, turned into unholy monsters by their greed for more power, and I will not rest until every last drop of magical blood is wiped from our lands."

* * *

Gaius nearly wept in frustration. He had already given up his betrothed, the pupils he'd loved, and now he'd very likely be forced to watch hundreds of Druids die. Uther was an old friend, but he was also a king mad with grief, and Gaius felt that if he abandoned him now, then there would be no hope for his recovery, or for the freedom of magic.

In misery he stood and listened to Uther's speech, so full of hatred for a people he had once embraced, if never understood. When he was finished the Sarrum said, "I believe your advisor has said his piece. Let him speak with his former friends while we discuss our strategy."

"Gaius, do you have anything further to say?" Uther asked him, and Gaius shook his head. He left the tent silently, stood outdoors in a sudden wave of despondency. So many more would die, magic and common alike, and he could do little to stop it.

He moved leaden feet down from their encampment, across the empty field, and then up the hill shrouding the Druids, the setting sun at their back. Wendol met him at the crest. "What brings you here, on the eve of battle?"

"Stubborn hope."

"The last refuge." Wendol turned, clasped hands behind his back. "Come, then."

Gaius let his eyes track over the opposing army. He would not return to Uther with news of their number, but he counted them all the same. There were many more than he expected to see. Wendol had brought together more tribes than he had thought possible in a land consumed with their slaughter. But Wendol was tall, and strong, and proud in ways Gaius was not.

They reached a circle of stones within which a fire sputtered. Wendol stood aside and presented him with a crooked smile, and the occupants of the circle looked up. They were Druid Elder's, men whom he respected, and High Priestesses of the Old Religion. Nimueh was there, and at her side was the young girl he'd left in her charge.

With a familiarity begat by his years working alongside her, years of thinking of her as an ally and friend, Gaius said, "This is no place for the child, Nimueh."

She quirked painted lips at him. "By the side of her people is precisely where she should be."

"Tell us your news," Wendol bade. "The time for talking is nearly past."

The words were so eerily similar to Uther's that Gaius faltered. Nimueh sneered. "What news could he bring? He hasn't come to help us."

"I am trying to help all of us," Gaius said, but felt his body heating at the heavy judgments by those around the fire pit. He had learned from these men and women for years. How could they believe he was against them? "Uther won't stand down; he can't be dissuaded. He will come after you until all are spent."

"Then he must die," Nimueh spat acidly. "And who but you is in the perfect place to do it? You could have slipped a knife in his back and prevented a war."

"After an assassination from a known magic-user, I could just as easily have started one."

"Let him speak, Nimueh," Wendol interrupted. And while the man had no power over her, Nimueh sat back with a roll of her eyes.

"Kingdoms have allied together, and you can't slay them all. It would be never ending. Thousands would die for little gain," Gaius argued.

"And what do you propose?" Wendol asked.

Gaius took a deep breath, looked at the faces around him. The firelight was throwing shadows on their faces, and it was all the more apparent how late the hour was growing. The sun had set quickly. "Hide," he said, pleading. "Disappear. I know you can do it. Let their anger subside and then we have a chance to return—"

"There is no returning from this!"

"Peace, Nimeuh," Weldol said, though he turned dark eyes on Gaius and continued. "But I agree with her, old friend. How can I live in shadows while others are drowned, burned, for what we are? I cannot abandon them to that fate. We will fight for our freedom, and we will win it."

Gaius slouched. The sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Around them, fires tamped out. _Then I have failed again._ "I promised Vivienne that at least Morgause would be safe."

Nimueh put a hand on the girl's head, stroking her blonde curls. "She will be, because of what we will achieve in battle."

A scream shattered through the darkness.

There was a shout of magic, another shriek, and a rush of running feet. Gaius whirled around, and watched in horror as what could only be described as a large slug leapt past him for Wendol's face. Nimueh's bolt of magic killed it instantly. "He came to distract us!"

Gaius turned back, aghast, eyes wide. "I didn't—"

"Gather your team!" Wendol shouted above the growing roar of panic. "Kill the creatures!" He crackled with magic and teleported away, the others in their circle following until only Nimueh remained.

"I swear," Gaius repeated, "I didn't."

Her glare deepened, her lip curled, and for some twenty years, the last he would know from her was the force of her hatred.

* * *

Merlin stumbled, fell to his knees. His fingers threaded into dewy grass. It felt so real. Beneath him, around him, wove black eels. Hundreds of them. He had thrown spells, frozen time, called to anyone who might hear, but there was nothing he could do. He could not change something that had already come to pass.

The first shriek came through the darkness and he screwed his eyes shut, knowing what it meant. The kings had a horde of Eancanah at their disposal, and anyone they bit would have their magic drained—permanently.

And then he felt the first hit of pain. A thousand, a million times it hit him. Pieces of his soul ripped through serrated teeth and then gone, dead. Missing.

 _What was this, oh gods, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe—_

He opened his eyes and he was in the midst of a maelstrom. A cyclone of winds surrounded him and ripped grass and rocks into the air. To the left he saw a man with hand outstretched, eyes burning a brilliant gold, and pushing him forward, into the thickest of the horde.

He saw the black streaks of the Eancanah get pulled from their hidden holes, whirling about him, others slithering, sliding through the grass to steal this power. Some jumped through but were too close, and they got caught in the winds. Others succeeded, made their target, covering, swarming the man, muffling his screams as their mouths closed around his face.

The cyclone died, and Merlin was left alone.

Another man ran forward with a sword, slicing through the body of a creature, and a woman flew past him. "Run!" She wailed. _"Run!"_

He heard the braying of hounds, and then came a wave of dogs. For every Druid that had moments ago lost their magic, came two sets of bloody teeth that sunk into their throats and their legs, their own death cries mixing with the howls of the hunting pack.

What almost was a battlefield became instead a slaughter.

He lost his orientation then, couldn't tell one side of the chaos from the other. Uther's troops followed on horseback with red capes and redder swords, and he was pulled from one burst of magic to the next, the clawing, gnawing of the Eancanah always there, always greedy.

 _Stop it! Stop they're dying!_

He thought he saw Nimueh, eyes blown wide, a child in her arms. She was stumbling backwards. A woman in long robes reaching in supplication towards her, her arm caked in blood and dirt, "Help me, Nimueh, please."

"I can't—" Nimueh broke off, fell to her knees. Then Merlin was next to Nimueh, was the blanket of her breath, was cradling the bloodied woman in his arms as her eyes slid shut.

 _It wasn't fair; they didn't deserve this._

He closed his eyes and felt the tears form. The woman in his arms had weight, was still warm. She had been pale and green-eyed. He already knew the pain of holding the ones you loved as they died. Now he knew that had been a mercy. So many had died alone and afraid. Too many. _It's not fair._

Yet the battle raged inexorably onward, and Merlin opened his eyes again to find the woman gone. This last time he was standing, the echo of a hundred conversations rattling in his mind, trapped in another man's body as they threw bolts of magic into the fray. Merlin could tell the man was powerful, and as he embodied the man's magic he helped the man form his spells, merged with his consciousness, saw from his eyes.

Mentally the man was screaming orders, warnings about the movements of the cavalry, possible strategies. He listened as the voices of his allies disappeared. He wasn't sure whether to hope they were dead, or had abandoned him to die here.

 _They were all going to die here._

He gathered his wits, pooling his magic, and in a yell that covered the battlefield, projected his final order to any who could still hear him. _"Flee, if you can. Live to fight another day!"_ A wave of magic to push a pair of knights from their horses. _"I was proud to—"_

Oh.

He looked down. _A spear?_ He reached his hands to the bloody tip protruding from his gut, weakly ran his fingers over the sharpened metal and grasped the wood of the shaft. _I need to…._ His vision blurred, he felt faint. _I need…._

He collapsed to his knees. The cries of the battle faded into a hum and he stared, unseeing, into the darkness ahead.

Teeth came for him, an Eancanah, and in a burst of anger he grasped it in midair, tightened his hold around the slime, pressed it into the dirt and hoped it were possible to strangle its life. He would take one more with him.

Then a dagger from the gloom burst quick into the monster's head, and as he began to slump, practiced arms caught him and lowered his body to the ground. The world swam, but he recognized his friend. Merlin recognized his uncle. _"Gaius…"_ they croaked.

"Wendol," Gaius said softly, grief etched across his features.

 _"Help me."_

"I want to," Gaius replied. Tears lay tracks down his cheeks, and though Merlin couldn't feel it, Gaius' hand gripped his shoulder. "But if you live, there will be another battle. Only more people will die, and I can't let that happen."

The knife was in his hand, shaking, trembling. _No, Gaius, please—_ Then it was in his throat, burning, spilling streams of fire into his lungs and his mouth. _I can't breathe._

"I'm so sorry."

His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Blackness engulfed him.

Then he vaulted upwards, his entire being lost in an all-consuming shriek. Blinded, he huddled in on himself, and those were his knees, and that was wood holding him at his shoulder. Beyond anything was a hole inside of him that was cavernous and empty and oh gods it was gone. _So much was gone._

A yawning maw was open in his soul. It was a shade of what had once been. Magic as a whole was perverted and destroyed…chaotic. It was terrifying.

If he hadn't wailed aloud before, he did so now—one long scream of unendurable agony.

He could not hear the stumble for a candle, the sound of feet on the stair. He did not hear as Gaius swung wide his door so it collided with the stone of the castle's wall. He could not register the worry and concern in his uncle's voice.

"Merlin? Merlin, what's wrong?"

Merlin's eyes blew open, and they stared forward in fear, nearly mad with grief. He held up a hand and blue became gold. _Get Away From Me!_

The instinctive wave of energy slammed into Gaius, carried him out the door and into the space above the workshop. He would shatter against the opposing wall, or break as his body landed on the unforgiving ground. He hung literally between life and death as Merlin's second wave of magic swept the room.

Merlin stumbled from his chambers on skeletal legs, feet, toes. Hand over his mouth, eyes wild. His magic put Gaius safely in his cot and then he was doubled over, fingers at his throat, his stomach, struggling for breath as he curled inward onto the bannister.

 _He killed me._

Some part of him knew that his magic hadn't left him; that it was the same as always.

 _I can't breathe._

But _his_ always was not _Albion's_ always and oh spirits his magic was shriveled and lost and putrefied and where was his soul where was it, _it was missing, it was missing, it was gone…._

* * *

 _Skin & Bones, sung by David J. Roch  
_

* * *

 **Footnotes:  
** (1) Uther's last massive battle against magic is based on the Battle of Arderydd, one of 'the three futile battles of the island of Britain'.  
(2) Lady Catrina (whom the troll impersonated), from the House of Tregor—the royal family of Alba, the 4th of the five kingdoms.  
(3) Geoffrey of Monmouth, the historian.  
(4) The Eancanah, or the tears of the earth mother Nenamed, are creatures that suck away someone's magic permanently. Morgana sicks one on Merlin in Series 5.  
(5) Wendol is named for Gwenddolau from the legend.

 **Author's Note:** I wanted something more custom and horrifying, but I ended up going with canon. It's too bad the Eancanah are just slug things, kind of hard to write them frighteningly. The way I see it, they're creatures of dark magic. Dark magic is anything that can cancel out normal magic, like antimatter v matter. In my Albion, magic is an energy, and it can be destroyed.

Richard Wilson (Gaius' actor) has referred to Hunith as his sister. Whether that's canon or not, I'm going with it. I let Katie McGrath choose Aithusa's gender after all. I heard this tidbit of information a while back, and I was hard-pressed not to write it in earlier. Hopefully I held out enough for it to be impactful for anyone who didn't know.

So many of you wanted an Arthur/Gwaine reaction to Merlin's missing fingernail, but Gaius was a good physician and covered it in cotton, and I couldn't fit it in :( Well, the injury is still there. Nails don't grow back very quickly. Besides, hopefully the way this chapter went was a good replacement. (Crossing fingers)

Thanks to the insurmountable Linorien for WTFing through the whole back end of this chapter and forcing me to make it clearer, otherwise you guys would have thrown your hands up and left. Merlin 'was' magic and he was experiencing the battle as their spells, mostly. Hopefully that made sense. Bad writer me for having to explain that. And of course, thanks to my lovely Jewelsmg for talking magic theory with me ad infinitum! There are so many beautiful theories out there.

I'd love to hear any of yours.

 **Next time:** The Sound of Silence


	26. The Sound of Silence

—

 **The Sound of Silence  
** _August_

It's not so much a return to sanity, as it is an oppressive weight that smothers him awake.

The physician's chambers are blacker than night, as motionless as death, and together they form a mirror for him to look into. There's a well within him, and it's filled with emotions he's spent so long burying. It feels like—

—like he's left Kilgharrah in his dungeon after begging him for help, and the great beast of legend is there, furious, angry, and putting all his faith in this village boy who has wandered into this vast castle with no idea what he's doing—

—like the moment after, standing alone in these chambers, listening to Morgana's rapid footfalls as she fled after his first betrayal. _I'm scared Merlin. I don't understand anything anymore. I need to know what's happening. Please._ But there's nothing to say, because there is Arthur to protect and carry and use as his idol for hope—

—like he holds the guilt for the lighting of every pyre as he's waited for Arthur to be ready. Like he's put the knife in their throats with his own hands.

He breathes once and the sound bounces off the stone near his cheek, dominating his fracturing mind. In his second breath he hears the dip and waver like a ghost of a sob. His third is stronger, and he almost feels like himself. Throughout it all he does not hear Gaius.

Merlin's muscles were cold and cramped from huddling onto the narrow stairwell, and they protested with a sharp shiver and a lasting ache as he straightened to listen. Gaius was not breathing.

He stood with his heart in his throat, and as he moved he felt the elastic pull of his bubble of magic, and he realized then that he had frozen the room, and had maintained the spell without thought. He reeled it in, boots echoing in the lofty room, and with the return of time came the soft falls of Gaius' breath, the rustle of his nightgown's fabric as his chest rose and fell.

He wanted to reach out in relief, but he hesitated. Could he face him without remembering what Gaius had done? Could he handle the guilt if he'd truly hurt the elder man when he'd thrown him from the stair? Would he still do what he needed to do, if he let himself feel the call of home and safety that he always felt in Gaius' gaze?

No, he could not.

So Merlin turned away, listened again to his mentor's steady breath, and then slipped into a stream of magic with the merest of whispers.

He stepped from his tunnel onto the windy peak of a mountain, the moon and stars his light for the forests stretching beyond eyesight. Strange how the troubles of Albion could feel so tumultuous, and so dire, while the earth meditated onward in relative stillness. Intellectually he knew the paths through these forests; knew the places to avoid in fear of bandits or sickened magic, but at this height the world seemed at peace. It was a view meant for none but birds and dragons, and its resonance explained the fundamental harmony and wisdom Kilgharrah carried with him.

Kilgharrah's cave, something he'd seen only through a precious vision from the great dragon, opened like a snake's maw in the rock face.

" _Leoht,_ " he said, and let his small ball of blue light float into the darkness ahead. For a depth it was a candle in a fog, then it sparked gold trails across one of Kilgharrah's large eyes and the dragon said quietly, "Young warlock."

Merlin strode into the cave, eyes and magic adjusting until he could see the golden head, shining a dull sea-green from the light, curled onto a massive tail in barely escaped slumber. "I know where Aithusa is."

This woke Kilgharrah fully, and his neck wove forward to bring his eyes even with Merlin's. "Where is the youngling?"

"With Morgana in Amata. Only someone as black as her could capture a young dragon for personal gain, and only she can hide her from us both."

"Where in Amata?" Kilgharrah growled. The flames licking his teeth told of a vengeance near to release.

"I don't know."

Kilgharrah's jaws snapped. "You know I cannot find the witch either. Her own Sight shields her from me, now."

"I know," Merlin said softly. His eyes flashed gold again, and his source of light glittered with a new layer of magic. The blue ball stretched into the image of a ring, and dancing about it was a binding spell. "Instead, I need you to find this."

* * *

Her magic saves her.

After betraying her to allow her best laid plans to crumble, those elemental weavings sputter from her subconscious and throw her from the path of falling stone.

She can think only of the relief of its return. It is all she has left, now. Her only love.

Her body, which has for so long just been the vessel required to store her power, and carry out her schemes, is again holding her back. Now it is not for vanity or hunger, but pain. Her blood is cold, and it coats her hands and waist. She wants to fall in Morgause's arms and be healed, but Morgause is long dead. She wants to go home, but she does not have one.

She has nowhere to go so she goes nowhere. She falls onto her back in the grass and rolls to stare blankly at the canopy overhead. Creatures have fled from her, and the forest is silent. Her vision blurs.

Funny how she's devoted her life to magic's freedom, for the vengeance she knows it craves, only for it to betray her too. Bitterness curdles in her gut, leeches onto the wisps of magic that remain, and she wants to rail at how unfair Emrys is. But her strength has abandoned her, and her voice cannot even croak.

She knows she's dying because she sees the bright light of the gates of Avalon. A soul for a soul, and she supposes she owes the afterlife tenfold.

But it is not the gate. It is the smallest of dragons, so fey she thinks she may still be hallucinating. The creature is the apology she's owed, the help she needs, the acceptance she's craved. She believes this is the Triple Goddess' acknowledgement of her struggle. She believes this is a sign that she will live on to rejuvenate her shriveling hopes.

Really, though, this is just the beginning of the end.

* * *

Merlin nestled into the crevice between Kilgharrah's shoulder blades, watching the powerful wings raise high above his head before beating downwards in a mighty wave. The higher they rose, the louder the wind roared in his ears.

 _"The spell on the ring is similar to the one from your chains in Camelot. I know at least the Sarrum and Odin have iron similar—"_

 _"I know the spell's history well, Merlin."_

 _"I only mentioned it to shorten the search; Sheba won't be within the castles."_

Kilgharrah had been pleased to learn that Merlin could now at least see the intricate spells built into the world around them. It was a knowledge not often gained without instruction and talent. Though the dragon, as a creature of magic, had never lived without this second sight. Apparently, there was even more drawn into the land around them….

The past, for instance, in all its garish detail.

The future too, drawn in subtle shapes, and called prophecy or fate.

Their ascent slowed, and Kilgharrah's wings rippled through currents of air as they glided forward. It was cold up here, so close to the moon, but the dragon's scales were warm and smooth. _"Would you like to search with me?"_

He had not so soon forgotten the distinct unbalance born from his short, but inhuman connection to Albion's magic. He wasn't eager to meet that chaos again. _"Not this time."_

Kilgharrah's hum rumbled through Merlin's body, felt more than heard. Not unkindly, the dragon said, _"I wonder if it is the king who is forever unready, young warlock, or you."_

Merlin had no answer. Whenever he'd learned of destiny, he had accepted it only to find there was ever another wall to climb. Tonight he would free Aithusa, and he would not risk her magic's destruction after seeing the fate of so many others. For now that would have to be enough.

He sunk further into Kilgharrah's broad back and let his mind fill with the ambient noise. _"Sleep, my dragonlord, and I will wake you upon our arrival."_

It was wind, and the steady _thump, thump_ of wings beating in rhythm with synchronizing heartbeats. These were sounds Uther had nearly driven to extinction.

Together they lulled him, securing and cocooning, then folded a woolen blanket of sleep atop.

Some hours later cool wind slipped into the hollow of his back, tossing away the warmth gained from Kilgharrah's own heat, and bringing Merlin awake. They were dropping towards a nameless clearing in the woodland below and his stomach fluttered with the feel of falling. His nose and fingers were frigid from the constant chill.

 _"Where are we?"_

 _"The borderlands of Amata. Your quarry is close, but you will have to walk the final mile."_ Dryly, Kilgharrah continued once they'd landed. "Unless I am allowed to come with you."

"It's safer for you to stay secret; I'll find her on my own." He offered a wan smile. "Besides, I owe someone an apology and I'd rather you weren't there to comment."

"I will remain here," Kilgharrah said quietly. "As long as you bring Aithusa to me as soon as you are able."

Merlin nodded and slid from the dragon's golden back, cupping his hands about his mouth and breathing warmth onto his fingers. Kilgharrah growled, eyes narrowed at an invisible enemy.

"If I don't hear from you by morning, I will burn this kingdom to the ground."

"Kilgharrah…."

The dragon turned away, curling into a comfortable position after the long flight, albeit turning his back on him. It was as much a dismissal as gliding away in the catacombs had always been. "Do not forbid me from flying on the winds of vengeance—not when the preservation of my species hangs in the balance."

Merlin did not try to argue. He could not afford Kilgharrah's ire when he may very well need Kilgharrah's help before morning. Hopefully he would not fail, and innocents would not die.

His magic drove him through trees and onto the wide plain they opened to. From here he did not need magical sight or a scout's scope to see the troupe in the distance. The flat land made the djinn's fire easy to see.

He brought himself to the border of their light, spying inward from the shadows. A few campfires burned low, and none were around to tend them. The djinn stood to the side, staring out into the distance, and all else slept on in their tents. Merlin only had to shift his weight from one foot to the next, and in a blink the djinn had disappeared.

It's raspy voice spoke lowly over his shoulder. "Why have you returned?"

"I owe you your freedom," Merlin responded. "Even if I cannot trust you not to turn on Camelot."

The djinn stepped round and studied his truthfulness. While the creature's skin licked with flames and his frightening gaze unnerved him, Merlin knew he was safe. He had made sure of it, after all, with the spell he'd placed upon Sheba's ring. "You are here for a bargain, not for the binding."

Merlin sighed. "I'm here for both, if you'll accept."

Unsurprisingly the djinn said nothing, only disappearing in another inhuman bound. The only hint of its new location was the settling of a purple tent flap. Even without the fortune teller's sign, the richness and otherworldly aura belied Lalla Sheba's quarters, and Merlin moved to stand a respectful distance from its entrance. The crackle of fire and the sleep sounds of the entire troupe were enough to cover the low sounds of their conversation.

He wanted to burst in and hurry their decision, but he stood and waited in the chill, ticking away the minutes with the tapping of his heartbeat. It was not propriety that held him back—no, certainly not his waning honor—it was desperation born of selfishness. He could not risk Aithusa's safety for a single day, and Sheba was his only hope of finding her quickly.

Finally the entrance moved aside, and the interior lit with the flickering light of the creature. Its burning gaze bore into him as he strode forward. Sheba waited for him, swathed in a dark cloak with her hair wrapped tightly in an emerald green cloth. "We're prepared to hear your offer," she said the moment the djinn closed the velvet behind him.

Merlin bent his head, ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought through how to battle their subtle animosity. In the end, he put all his dice on the table. "Someone I love very much is being held prisoner, likely in the Sarrum's castle. When I first met you, you mentioned the Sarrum had a new plaything. It was a fate you sought to protect the djinn from." He paused, watched her expression carefully. "I wondered if you knew more."

"If I tell you what I know, you'll break this spell?" She held aloft her hand on which twinkled the dull iron ring. Swirling in gold about it were the powerful binding spell, and the lock that prevented the djinn from hurting any human.

"If I can find and free Aithusa, then I'll tear up whatever you choose."

Sheba's eyes cast from Merlin to the djinn, and then they softened. "In the end it won't be my risk, but yours. It is your decision."

There was little hesitation on the part of the creature. He held his hand out for the ring, and Sheba slipped it from her finger and into its waiting palm. She smiled sadly. "Then I suppose we have a deal."

* * *

It was a dream from which she never woke. Ever had that one? The dread nightmare known to be false, but sleep is so heavy, so deep, that it pulls you inexorably downward. You're drowning in slow waves, in the soft, black sea. Do you know that scene? It's death. Murmuring to you. It's where we end.

Most of us, at least.

Morgana cracks her eyes open, her only source of light a ring far above her. The well's lid eclipses the sun. She stretches fingers to the stone, and hears through touch the same words she's been told endlessly though the stink and echo of this place. Dense. Damp. Buried.

She's shackled. Cold Iron captures her wrists and her arms hang useless about her face. She cannot move far from the wall that serves as her bed, her chair, her outhouse. Her clothes are filthy, stained, and torn; her hair is matted, and her face and arms so streaked with grime, it is impossible to see the porcelain her skin had originally been. All she breathes is permeated with the retching stench of a pigsty.

Clanking metal reverberates through the tight space, and the dragon's small head warms against her knee. She croons softly and the dragon responds. She has not known this blameless love since the fog of her earliest childhood. It is more precious to her than life itself.

She breathes a slow, deep in-and-out, and sinks into the stone at her back with its stench of mold and decay and human sweat. She floats on the edges of her endless nightmares, drowning in darkness, until wood scrapes against stone and the lid slides to the side and her well goes blinding white.

Teeth clenching, she narrows her eyes, preparing for whoever has come to gawk, or jeer, or violate the blackened witch. Perverted monsters. Drop in a roll of bread and drop your pants, jerk off before you go.

She has fought, kicked, thrown magic in bursts of fire or energy. Some have died shrieking, and others by falling headfirst into her well. They've retaliated with drugs, choking her on smoke, tightening her chains so she could not even pick up her own skirts.

The only good thing, if she can call it that, is that the worse the smell grows, the more they leave her alone. Guards had enjoyed the sight of her chained and degraded body just fine, but now that she stank? Not so much.

Two large shadows bend into the brilliant light, talking in that language she's never understood. And though she does not know the words she grasps the intent. _Not so powerful are you now, you filthy animal?_

They hold a large stone, no, a bucket, and with a shove of their arms the wave of water spills down towards her and hits like shards of ice. The cold brings shock and pain, and her dragon cries. They continue until the walls are wet, the ground turns to mud, and her dress clings to the shape of her body.

She shakes in rebellion. Her lungs seize and the world turns a hazy black and white that blocks out everything but the shadow men high above her. She screams, and carried in the sound is not pain, but all the primal force of animal rage. Her fury beats harder, faster, painfully against her temples.

It hammers out the order to kill.

* * *

"The Purge was a time of evil, and none that survived it came through untouched."

Lalla Sheba tightened her cloak about her shoulders, and her eyes cast down as her story replayed.

"At first, they were only dying in Camelot. Most of us were safe, and we heard the rumors of drownings and beheadings, and the growing uprising, with disbelief. It seemed so far away. The Sarrum even captured his first sorcerer, but we were all led to believe it was justified. I believed I was safe, because I was good.

"Then one night the sorcerer was dead, and the Sarrum came with his army and shackles of cold iron. He slaughtered most, but the more powerful or unique he kept alive, first in the dungeon of the castle, and afterwards in dried wells outside its walls. I never looked, and I never helped them. I only hid.

"In the night, you could hear them wailing. Eventually, they begged for death. He only ever gave it to them in trade—their knowledge, for his mercy."

Stoically Merlin said, "So I will find her in a well outside the walls?"

Sheba turned to the djinn, and the creature replied, "I know of the wells." It turned to Merlin and stated. "I will help you free your Aithusa, and in return you will free me from my bonds."

The djinn slipped out and Merlin followed quickly. He turned to thank Sheba, but her eyes were focused forlornly on the djinn, and remained staring after it even as Merlin let the flap close behind him.

It was silent traveling then, he and the djinn covering leagues across the flatlands through his teleportation and the djinn's fast feet. They avoided the camps of other travelers and skirted villages that huddled between wide swaths of farmland on the great plains of Amata. As they neared their destination the roads widened, and the villages grew more dense, until the grey-stone castle appeared from the gloom, peering down on them from a lonely grassy ridge.

It had one large tower connected to its front gate, tall enough to see the river at its back, and capable of spilling pitch onto any attackers. It's height over the surrounding terrain gave the guards an advantage, and Merlin moved warily into its range, relying on his luck and the darkness to keep him hidden.

The djinn's natural invisibility to non-magic users leant him an even greater advantage, though the brightness of his skin made the ground around him glow. Merlin wondered if he should sneak into that tower and knock out the guards. While it would surely result in alarms later, it might prevent them sooner.

While he deliberated the djinn sped away, presumably to check the wells it knew of. In the meantime Merlin shifted into the shadow of the tower and craned his neck to look up at the many stories. It would be slow going to find every passageway and climb every level to be sure he was safe from prying eyes. He couldn't waste that time; the moon was nearly set, and the stars told him dawn approached.

He had lain sleeping spells before, pushed them likes waves over groups of guards near Camelot's cells. He experimented now, watching a crystalline web of the thinnest layer of magic spread between his palms. He'd never used this spell without being in sight of the people he'd enchanted, but the concept must be the same. Cover them, swathe them, and they'd sleep like babes.

Pressing his hands to the stone, he willed his magic upwards. Like a golden lattice, it climbed over moss and windows, stretching upwards and expanding round. He felt the small current as it connected seamlessly on the opposing side of the tower, and again when it latched together over its ceiling.

He moved back from the wall and his hands fell to his sides. He felt a strange dip as the magic unconnected from him and stood trembling on its own, a threadbare blanket sprinkling the sandman's secrets onto countless bodies.

Instinctively he knew then that his magic was different. He had no proof, really. There was nothing overtly more or less powerful, nothing particularly strange. Perhaps there was a foreign hue, or perhaps the veil he'd ripped aside would never fully be repaired. If he dared to hope...he'd hope he just had a deeper relationship with his magic, or magic in general.

The djinn appeared at his side. "One well is occupied."

Eagerly Merlin whispered, "Show me."

Carefully, he followed the creature around to the east wall of the castle, where a covered well was hidden in the shadow of the castle. He saw a weak spiral of magic leaking into the night air, and in his desperation to free Aithusa nearly leapt to its side. The djinn held back, and the reason for it tripped at his subconscious.

"Your promise," the djinn reminded him.

Merlin looked at the well, and then to the djinn. He could not be certain Aithusa was within, but it would be too much of a coincidence if she was not. The djinn had been invaluable, and it deserved to not be strung along any further. "Sheba bound you initially to prevent you from a fate like this," Merlin gestured to the well. "Will you be safe on your own?"

"I will find a way."

The djinn closed the distance between them, and held out the iron ring in the palm of its fiery hand. Merlin ran his fingers through the spells he and Sheba had built together, and watched as they were destroyed, the energy returning to the air in sublimating fragments. "Thank you for everything."

The djinn nodded almost regally, and then it blinked away, leaving him alone.

Alone with this thoughts, with the well, and with the banging in his chest. He had held a fragile life in his hands, but he had allowed it to slip through busy fingers and fall into the depths of depravity. In equal measures he worried for her life, his guilt, and for everything that could go wrong in the next few moments. With a hand outstretched, he drew on the strength that allowed him to push waves of energy at his enemies, and used it to pull the well's wooden lid into the air. A rush of garbled slurs followed, and he was so shocked the lid slipped from his grasp and banged dully onto the ground.

The voice was female, and a female he would never forget.

He wavered, for an instant, in indecision. Then he let the glamour for age wash through him, feeling the stubble on his chin lengthen into a full beard, his hair growing years in seconds. He tugged at his shirt, hoping she would be too deep in the ground to recognize it. For all the familiarity he had with glamours, they were useless if he couldn't hide his recognizable, servile clothes.

Again Merlin approached, and this time stuck his head and shoulders carefully over the well's edge. Filth and rot overpowered the smell of damp, wet mold, and the dim light cast a macabre glow over Morgana—and Aithusa—who were curled into the dirt far below.

* * *

Her visits are never this close together, and she wonders what she's done to deserve the honor.

She hears his footsteps falter, _he's scared_ , she thinks, and she hopes he is one of the stupid ones that lean a little too far over the edge. But at this shadow man's appearance Morgana lunges, then jerks as her wrists catch on the chain. She curses and screams, straining at her bonds with all the anguish and fury of a wild animal trapped in captivity.

Because, even as her eyes adjust to the wealth of starlight, she knows that face. She's known it in her deepest dreams, and fears it whenever she grasps something she covets.

Then the collar snaps from round her dragon's neck and she knows what will happen. She watches in agony as her dragon cries for her, as Emrys speaks words she cannot know, and the skeletal white wings stretch out. _You've grown_ she thinks as the tips of the dragon's wings brush the edge of their pit, and then she can look no longer as the drum begins its beat into her skull. If he speaks to her, she cannot hear him.

For a brief time she'd tasted happiness, had the closest chance for peace when she had looked at the smile of her pure dragon. The rage and violence that had defined so many of her years had a hope to ebb, but then these monsters had thrown her into this prison, ripped away her newfound calm, and allowed her worst enemy to steal away the last pieces of her. No matter what she does, or what she chooses, the end result is always madness.

Hands to her head, face to the stone, screaming without sound. She pushes back hard.

Her well's lid settles firmly into place.

* * *

 _The Sound of Silence, sung by Disturbed_

* * *

 **Footnotes:**  
(1) Sheba and the djinn are from the "Aisle Four" couplet, Chapters 16 and 17.  
(2) I didn't come up with the term "Cold Iron", and I wish I knew who wrote it so I could credit them.  
(3) Amata's castle is based on Hadleigh Castle in Essex

 **Author's Note:  
** Thanks to Jewelsmg for the War of Distance, fought between houses Mile and League, and for being a willing ear to complaints heard by few others. And, of course, to Linorien for helping me turn terrible turns of phrase into actual storytelling. To all you wonderful reviewers, what really astonishes me and blows me away, is how quickly I receive your reviews. I expect them to trickle in over a week, but instead they flood in nearly overnight. It's a singular, wonderful experience.

The inspiration behind Morgana's imprisonment scene is from stories on human trafficking. I can't take credit for thinking of all that wretchedness.

I'm curious, though. Many of you didn't come to this story for Morgana, and I don't know your thoughts on her. Does she deserve this prison?

Knowing what you know, would you leave her there?

 **Next time** : Centuries.


	27. Centuries

—

 **Centuries  
** _August_

Dawn is the time when nothing breathes.

The sky greyed in a prelude to morning, and it turned the white of Aithusa's skin into a pale, sickly pallor. Her membraneous wings were folded over a translucent body, her eyes were too large for her head, and her head too large for her neck. She seemed ungainly and weak, but when he reached a hand out to her she snapped at him.

"Aithusa, are you hurt? Let me help you."

The dragon curled away from him, baring her teeth. She recognized him, but she was furious.

"Can you speak?"

She growled softly and pushed her head forward, nostrils flaring but willing him to place his hand upon her. When he does, he only sees images of the darkness, and Morgana. Water, food, hunger, pain, Morgana. He pulls his hand away after realizing that Aithusa cannot walk, that her back legs have grown malformed and stunted.

Merlin stepped closer and her jaw opened in fury, perhaps for fire, but succinctly he ordered, "Stop that, Aithusa." He put his hand on the side of her jaw and looked into her eyes, understanding what she was trying to tell him, but wondering why she demanded it. He ran his hand over her neck and wings, looking for other injuries. He found scabs and thin, ragged scars, but nothing ruinous. No broken bones, only bruises, and the prevalent atrophy of a child raised imprisoned. He bent closer to her legs, and saw that they had grown the best they could in the cramped conditions they had been forced into. They were long, but permanently crooked. He didn't have nearly the skill or knowledge of healing magic to fix this, not without breaking the bones and setting her in painful splints.

"I have to get you to Kilgharrah." Aithusa growled angrily at him again, and he said, "At least let me think through it, before you condemn me."

He put his palms on her shoulders and closed his eyes. He focused on the clearing Kilgharrah had brought him to early that morning, leagues away but well within his range. He imagined the stance of the trees, and the golden curl of the Great Dragon's back, and pictured his tunnel spiraling into that space. It stretched north, north across the plains, and then he opened his eyes and they were there. Kilgharrah was already awake, however, and staring at him.

"Youngling," are the first words from the dragon's mouth. "What has the witch done to you?"

Aithusa's lip curls, and she drags herself away from Merlin and the dragon, standing as tall as she can and pointing her wings to the sky in an effort to look intimidating. She and Kilgharrah are silent as they quickly, and wordlessly, communicate.

While he watched them, Merlin thought that it looked like a conversation had many times before. He did not expect a willing explanation, but he had gotten an inkling of it from Aithusa's imagery. Unfortunately, their silent argument is one he's had countless times in his own mind, and he's never fully decided how to end it.

Not so long ago he had surprised Morgana into tumbling down a flight of stairs, and as her brain bled and she inched towards death, he could not take the weight that would have come with being responsible for her passing. In the end he saved her life, despite knowing that she may take up Carnwennan again and kill Uther in his sleep.

Then she had taken the castle alongside Cenred and crowned herself queen, and he had struck to hurt and maim. He hadn't tried to spare her, but she had lived, and from that failure had come Agravaine and Helios.

He knows what Kilgharrah will say. Merlin has heard these prophecies from the Great Dragon since arriving in Camelot. _Kill the witch; leave her to die._

And yet Aithusa's every other thought said _Save Morgana; she must live._

"Aithusa, you are to stay with Kilgharrah until you are fully healed."

Kilgharrah smiles and steps forward to wrap one claw around Aithusa's frail body. She snaps but cannot refuse it, and Kilgharrah spreads his wings to fly. He would need to move quickly to avoid being noticed by wakening farmers. "Will you be traveling with us, young warlock?"

Merlin shook his head. "I need to visit the Druids." But as the great gusts of wind beat down on him as Kilgharrah strived for height, he bursts, "I have always valued your opinion!"

Kilgharrah eyed him knowingly, "And I yours, young dragonlord. I trust you'll make the right choice," then, "hush, child," spoken to a growl from Aithusa. They were above the treeline now, but Kilgharrah's voice boomed again, "Merlin, you have done my kind a service this day!"

Merlin didn't respond as he watched the dragon's forms shrink slowly into small dots on the horizon.

Aithusa would rather have died alongside Morgana, rather than live without her. Morgana, who was still trapped in a reeking, hellish prison now not because of the Sarrum, but because Merlin had left her there.

He certainly didn't feel worthy of any praise.

Merlin weighed the magic he had at his disposal. He had expended much more than normal traveling back and forth across Amata, but he still had enough for one more jump before he would need to rest. If he stretched it he could make it to Iseldir's camp, but no further. Even then, he would need the beacon of his own magic he'd left ingrained into the stone hall beneath the ground.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This would be the furthest he had traveled yet. He breathed out on the word " _Astyre,"_ elongating his remaining magic like a slingshot through the space between, and then launching himself along the shrunken tunnel.

He landed skidding and blinking gold from his eyes, quickly adjusting to the dim light of the Druid's secret chamber. Flickering candlelight threw his shadow into sharp relief on the stone wall before him, and the magic that permeated every pore of this place began to seep slowly back through his skin and into his soul.

"It is an honor," a man's voice said cuttingly from the darkness, "to meet the creator of the Hall of Brecffa."

Merlin whipped round and noticed the other man in the room—Bleise, he remembered, the Master of Histories for the Druid peoples, dressed as always in his simple robe. The last time they'd met had been in the Kalends of June, when Arthur had officially extended peace towards Iseldir. Bleise had proven himself a sharp but uncompromising advisor, and he had never failed to make Merlin uncomfortable with his unnecessary, yet impressive, demonstrations of magic when only barely hidden from Camelot's elite.

"I was just admiring your magic, or, perhaps, inspecting it," Bleise continued conversationally, "I may have even been impressed, if you had not appeared with squeaking boots and obvious injury."

He gestured for Merlin's maimed finger, still wrapped in thick cotton, and Merlin was hit with an urge to defend himself. He had never practiced healing magic with any delicate intention, but he had gotten quite good at teleporting and this had been a bad example—he chose to avoid that line of argument, though, to avoid sounding like a child.

"And what has brought you here," Bleise said to his silence, "Merlin, lord of stone and water pitchers?"

Merlin swallowed his need to rise to the bait, Bleise's face was too impassive for the dialogue to be truth, and he got the impression he was being tested. Instead he responded deferentially, "I came with a question of prophecy for Iseldir, but it occurs to me that you are a greater expert."

"I make my living interrogating every traveler, and listening for the whisper of every seer's dream. I may have an answer."

Merlin stepped forward and placed a hand on the cool alabaster of a slender column that helped to halve the hall. "What precisely _is_ Morgana's prophecy? Just what is she destined to do?"

Bleise scoffed. "Prophecies are rarely so specific. The fates are painted in strokes of color that only from afar can be viewed."

He'd dealt with too much the past few days to accept these headache-inspiring generalizations. "Then why have I heard that Morgana will be Camelot's greatest enemy, and Mordred is Arthur's bane?"

"I suppose for the same reason you are called Emrys," Bleise said with pleasure.

Merlin felt something cold slide down his throat and into his stomach. "And why do you believe they call me Emrys?"

Bleise's grin widened with Cheshire-like pleasure. "You have power, and potential. And some put all their faith in prophecy. But it is all conjecture. Consider this," he looked down to the Triskelion marked onto the back of his hand, "'A powerful sorcerer will bring magical freedom to the lands of Albion once more.' Mordred, as a child, and a powerful sorcerer already, is set free by then Prince Arthur. Years later he returns to bend a knee to the man who saved him. The prince, now king, learns through the progression of time that a Druid, and a magic-user, can be trusted. Can be a friend. The ban is repealed."

"That's—" Merlin started, affronted.

"Perhaps Mordred is the fabled Emrys."

"He's destined to _kill_ Arthur," Merlin argued.

"No, only 'a blade burnished in fire and bathed in ire.' Many believe the person who wields it will be a traitor to the crown, and a powerful sorcerer in their own right," Bleise's eyes danced against Merlin's increasingly stormy expression, "but again, it is conjecture."

This was it then, what Bleise had been getting at since their first meeting. "Spit it out, then. Tell me what is it you're trying to say."

Bleise shrugged, and took his time responding. The Druid's eyes traced the arches of the hall with bored disdain. "At present Mordred is your enemy, but you are Mordred's enemy. Who is to say you are not an enemy to magic as well?"

A breath away from a snarl, Merlin said, "Everything in my life, nearly anything I could call my own I have willingly given to Arthur and Camelot and magic. How can you stand there and call me an enemy?"

The Druid's response was quick and sharp, thrust forward in long-awaited readiness like the needle-like dagger of the red woman. "Because if you were to choose between the king of Camelot, and Albion's magic, which would survive?"

Just as severely, Merlin replied, "That's a decision I'll never have to make. It _is_ destined that Arthur and I will bring magic back to the land."

The two men stared unyieldingly at each other, studying and challenging in equal measure. Bleise conceded first, but turned the motion into a musing shrug. "I find it interesting that you don't have an immediate answer."

Now Merlin did snarl. "Of course I don't, Arthur is my best friend—"

Bleise shrugged again, as if the outcome were wholly out of his hands. "Then one day we may find ourselves on opposing sides."

In an instant the hall was as silent as a tomb. Merlin narrowed his eyes. "If the day comes where you stand against Camelot, I will have no choice but to destroy you." Angrily he turned away, fuming silently. He should have known—an alliance with the Druids would never be so easy—worse, though, was he knew why they fought with a never-ending hope for retribution—

"I have a point, Merlin," Bleise cut in quietly. "We have all struggled to be where we are today, and nameless prophecies have no hand in our successes, nor our failures. No matter how straight our paths, or how punishing our challenges, we are the master of our fates. We are the captain of our souls."

"I see," Merlin said tightly, not prepared to forgive the druid. Essentially, Bleise believed nothing was writ in stone, and that everything Merlin had sacrificed for the hope of Camelot's future might all be for nothing. But Bleise was only a man, and Kilgharrah was a creature of magic. And Morgana _had_ turned out to be a horrid enemy to Camelot.

Merlin put his hand to the ladder and began to climb for the surface. Though if that were the whole truth, then _why_ had Aithusa chosen to help her? It seemed preposterous—dangerous, even—to believe Bleise when he insinuated that Morgana would stop her attacks. Worse still, there was still the tiniest fraction of Merlin that wanted to believe that.

When he reached solid ground there were many Druids already looking at him with surprise shown plainly on their faces. "Emrys?" Someone called, but he ignored them, putting his head down and walking for the forest's edge. Some prophesied Emrys he was if magic was forced to tell him through history what should have been obvious: magic was precious, and it was dying. Some hero, if he spent every day living in fear of the backlash sure to come if his best friend knew the truth.

He could hardly protect a creature he had brought into this world, and could not let go of the guilt that gripped him when faced with Morgana. Her very existence threatened Camelot's, but he could not kill her today for the same reasons he truthfully told Morgause of the hemlock.

He reached the edge of the forest of Brecffa and stood looking into the beginnings of the forest of Ascetir. The only signs of the change were the shift in rocky landscape, and the tiniest of creatures perched on a leafy tree.

Silently, he cast out an apology to Kilgharrah for what he had once again failed to do.

The creature smiled, teeth made of moss and wood, and body blending faultlessly into the greenery around them.

"Little Emrys," the Leshy said smugly, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

* * *

A small handful of hours later Merlin had returned to the Sarrum's castle, though this time he was prepared. He had borrowed a set of old robes from a Druid, and he had glamoured himself as Dragoon with long white beard sweeping down to his chest. In his left hand he gripped a pomegranate; a fruit provided him by the Leshy—a magical creature that had tricked him months ago while visiting Hunith. He had bartered for a bountiful harvest in Ealdor, and in return promised the creature a wife. Supposedly this fruit would bind to it that companion it wanted.

Merlin's right hand raised, and he pushed forward that instinctive spell that stilled the energies of anything that passed its border. To anyone that crossed into the bubble, time would halt, but, anyone watching from afar would escape his influence, and be able to see his movements.

He expanded the sphere until he encompassed himself and the surrounding hill with Morgana's pit. He had to focus to propel the magic over the low walls of the castle, the iridescent shroud thinning and wavering, and was forced to stop after covering only the eastern walls, feeling the strain. He would have preferred to have also frozen the Sarrum's main tower, but as long as he moved quickly that omission should not cause an irreparable problem.

He strode into the daylight, and already guards pointed at him from the castle's peaks. With no reason left to be subtle, he waved a hand and blasted away the lid from Morgana's prison. It went careening into the stone walls and shattered.

Now, he did not come thieving and crouching in the night, and he stood at the edge of her pit and accepted her ferocity unshaken. Morgana squinted at him with teeth bared.

As she strained at her chains and spit curses, Merlin barely recognized her. With the light of day she was more wretched to behold, her cheeks hollow, and her dress ripped, matted, and darkened with more than dirt. When he used his magic to tear through the spells protecting the iron cuffs, and then rent them open, her arms flopped to her sides, too weak to be held up against him.

The warning bell began to chime, and he saw a crossbow bolt whiz toward him, only to slow to a crawl and then freeze within his pocket of magic.

He dropped the pomegranate the long distance into her lap. She snarled.

"I do not trust any food or drink given to me by friend or foe. Take your fruit!" She picked the red husk from her dress and threw it upward. Her weakened frame could not emit the fury she held, and the pomegranate bounced from the stone walls of the pit back down into the mud at her side.

"It is not poison, though that would be a mercy," Merlin responded. Her green eyes narrowed and she studied him with hatred written plainly on her face.

She wondered if he had known to mention poison, and if so, just how long he'd been working against her.

Merlin continued. "It is another jail, though many pieces of me believe you deserve a prison no better than this. Perhaps I _should_ leave you with the Sarrum." He pointed down at the faerie's gift. "I see nothing redeemable in you, Morgana," he said harshly. "Yet Aithusa does. So I'm giving you one more chance."

"Aithusa," Morgana echoed softly.

"Don't say her name," Merlin growled. The yell of guards reached his ears, and from his periphery he saw a group of men hit the edge of his spell and slow to a stop, weapons still raised. " _Forbærne_ _,_ " he said and lit a ball of flame in his palm, "you're running out of time, Morgana."

Morgana looked at it fearfully, hands clenching in rage but her arms already shaking with fatigue. Finally her lip curled, and she snatched at the fruit, folding her body around it and effectively bowing to him.

Her dark hair rolled in a mass of curls down her back, rigid and tangled with grime. From above she looked so small, so pitiful, but then she tilted her waxen face towards him and it only took a look into her eyes to know the witch she was. "I have known darkness, and I know patience." Her words were cold and deadly quiet, and in them was only truth. "One day I will have my revenge on you."

She hissed _Emrys_ then cracked the pomegranate with her nails. She bit into the seeds and drank their juices, her eyes never leaving her enemy. A dark hole bloomed from the center of the fruit, and a cyclone of wind whirled in a fury about it, spiraling out of the well and spewing dirt into the air. Merlin heard her shriek once, and then the magic was spent, and Morgana was gone.

He looked up, and inspected the dull throbs of energy he felt within his sphere of influence.

Nearly thirty men were stuck in mid-charge, and a countless number of crossbow bolts hung suspended in the air. On the far wall of the castle were guards pointing forward and back, and testing the limits of his spell with thrown stones. But what stole his attention was above them all, standing on the flat top of the tallest tower—the Sarrum.

In a whirl of wind Merlin spoke _Astyre_ and disappeared, simultaneously releasing the frozen energies and allowing bolts to collide in midair, and footsoliders to run forward only to halt in confusion. But, instead of retreating to safety, he recalled the calculating glee in the ghoul king's gaze, and he internalized it, hated it. This was the man who had released the Eancanah, who had captured Aithusa and made her suffer unspeakably, and he was only a few hundred feet away, smirking at him.

In a moment of recklessness, his tunnel warped in midair and brought him to the Sarrum's back.

Guards noticed him and yelled a warning, but they could do little else with their king so close. The sounds of boots running and the clank of armor eclipsed the continued chimes of the warning bell as the warriors changed direction.

The Sarrum turned slowly, did not flinch for his sword, and thus prevented the only excuse Merlin would have needed.

For the second time in as many days, the Sarrum's gaze swept up the length of his body, though this time he had only Merlin's bandaged finger to linger on. Merlin curled his hand into a fist, obscuring it, even if there was no way the Sarrum could make the connection.

This time, when his silent study ended on Merlin's face, Merlin could let his revulsion show.

"That was impressive," the king hissed.

"I doubt it would take much to impress a simple mind like yours."

The Sarrum's expression tightened, and when he smiled he looked like a snake beginning to shed it's skin. "I am surprised we have not met before."

"Before, I knew you not for what you were."

"I am a king protecting his people. I am a man who values knowledge. What are you, oh great sorcerer?

"I?" Merlin said, and let his magic thread into his voice, letting his desire for revenge drive him. "I am the voice of your victims. I am the justice you deserve." He reached an arm for the sky, and clouds began to roll in. The sharp smell of ozone filled the air. The Sarrum's eyes narrowed in unblinking concentration. _"I am your death—"_

Merlin clenched his fist, and with it came a bolt of lightning that streaked from the heavens and landed with deafening thunder in the former prison. Stones cracked and blew outward, wind whipped the Sarrum's cloak in tangles about his shoulders, and Merlin's long hair swept behind him.

"—and I am watching you."

* * *

After returning the robe to the Druids, he gladly ate an offered bowl of stew and steadily let his magic replenish. When he could procrastinate no longer, he returned to his room in Camelot.

The slivers of his cowardice had hoped Gaius would have left to visit patients, but instead he found his guardian waiting with head bowed on his small cot. At his arrival Gaius looked up, eyes wide with concern, and the impossible weight of the last few days landed unrepentantly on his shoulders. Merlin fell to his knees and croaked, "I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?"

"No, my boy," Gaius said softly.

Merlin clenched his eyes tightly shut and put his head on Gaius' knees.

"It's passed, Merlin." Gaius stroked his wizened hands over Merlin's hair, whispering, "You are safe here."

 _Don't cry_ , Merlin told himself fiercely. "So much has happened, I don't know where to start."

"You don't have to tell me, not right now." Gaius' presence was so comforting, and his warmth so forgiving that Merlin had to press his lips together to hold back the wave of emotion that thickened his throat and made his eyes burn. "I am more than content to have you here with me, now. I was worried about you." Gaius smiled. "Even Arthur came by to give you the day off."

 _Even Arthur_...and for whatever reason that was what broke him. He could not hold back the choking sobs that left him gasping, or stop the roll of tears that wet his cheeks and the rough fabric that muffled him. He cried until his throat had swollen and his nose ran and he heaved and shuddered mutely.

Gaius pushed him back gently then. "What's wrong?"

"Everything…." He sucks air into his lungs and tries to hold it there, but they spasm without his control. "...Nothing. Nothing is really wrong."

"Arthur?"

"Arthur is more than safe—" Merlin shuddered again and then held his breath, grimacing as he struggled to regain his composure. "It's not him; it's not that."

"Then what? What's happened?"

Merlin shook his head, "Nothing. I dreamt an old battle." The truth curdled in his throat. "Just a nightmare."

" _Merlin…,"_ Gaius said anxiously.

"And I found Aithusa, maybe permanently crippled by the Sarrum, and I freed—" He wiped a sleeve over his nose and then rubbed at his eyes. The breaths were coming easier now, and he sat back on his heels until he could speak without stuttering. "The Sarrum is a monster, and I threatened him. He deserves it for everything he's done today and years and _years_ _ago…_."

Merlin's gravelly voice faded away, and he looked up to Gaius who still gripped his shoulder tightly. He looked confused and quietly horrified at the possibilities between Merlin's words. "But you are safe? You are unharmed?"

"I am safe; I am unharmed," Merlin echoed lowly. Then in a burst of motion he stood and turned his face to the door, but Gaius guessed his intent quickly.

"Stay, Merlin. Everyone believes you are sick, and you could use a day of rest."

"I can't, Gaius. I need to warn Kilgharrah...about Morgana." He swallowed thickly. "I need you to send me for herbs in the forest."

"If you must, my boy, but—"

Merlin cut him off with an expression that was more grimace than smile, "I will explain everything later."

"I have only barely gotten you back. I don't care about the truth of the last few days, I only care about you coming home."

"I'm going no further than the edge of the forest, I swear it."

Gaius rubbed tiredly at his face. "I know I cannot stop you," he looked up fiercely, piercing Merlin with a sharp gaze, "but you must be _extra_ attentive of your surroundings."

Gaius did not let him go easily, but after further promises he was allowed to leave with the satchel and the physician's assurance that his tracks were covered.

After what felt like a lifetime away from the bustle of Camelot, he felt like a foreigner in the lively spirit of the kingdom. Peasants and servants weaved around him as if he'd never left, and he wondered at how his desertion wasn't as obvious as scarlet letters painted onto his clothes.

Once in the courtyard he saw a cluster of knights off to the side, receiving a round of news from Leon. A quick scan told him Elyan was in the mix, and Merlin ducked his head down further to avoid being seen. Elyan was a reminder that Morgana had done more than taken Camelot, she had killed and tortured countless people, and he felt more like a traitor than ever before.

If he had bet wrong, and if anyone died because of this fresh mistake, how could they ever forgive him?

He was back at this impasse again and Merlin grit his teeth in frustration. _Why was Aithusa protecting her?_

In an effort to keep his profile small he ducked quickly through the stream of people into the streets of the Upper Town. His mind jolted back and forth between his variety of sins, and he lost himself in debate on their fundamental rights and wrongs. By the time he'd left the walls of Camelot's keep, he had long forgotten the words he'd sworn to his guardian, and he did not heed the hints at his back.

Even when well onto the vacant trail to Kilgharrah's clearing, he did not notice his pursuer, and the acute gaze that tracked him.

* * *

" _O drakon, permit me an audience. Out of necessity, I command you._ "

In the voice of dragons Merlin roared over the expanse of the clearing. As always, when the compulsion of a dragonlord's abilities bade him, Kilgharrah arrived on swift wings. Though this time he brought Aithusa with him and already she looked less wan, even if she was still bony and bent.

"Why have you called us so soon, young warlock?" Kilgharrah asked, and surprisingly, the great dragon sounded almost winded.

Quietly, Merlin said, "I think you can already guess what I have done."

A blink, and then Kilgharrah gnashed his teeth and bellowed in fury. " _Why? I have warned you—_ "

In the dragon tongue Merlin quickly cut him off, " _Drakon, please, not so loud._ " He cast his eyes to Aithusa who was quite obviously smiling. " _I couldn't leave her there to her madness. Worse things may have come of it._ "

 _"There are worse things still to come,"_ Kilgharrah snapped.

" _Do you know why Aithusa chose to help her? I saw her thoughts—Aithusa has saved her life more than once._ "

 _"Silly reasons; childlike hopes that will amount to nothing."_

Merlin sighed. " _Didn't we save Aithusa's egg for the same reasons?_ " Kilgharrah snorted, and Merlin turned to Aithusa whom was quite obviously gloating silently to herself. " _She is not wandering free, Aithusa. You cannot convince me she deserves that._ "

He approached the dragon and crouched before her. Without her legs to stand on, she barely came to his waist.

" _Tell me why, Aithusa, please. Why would you give your life for hers?_ "

Atihusa was pleased with him now, and she clucked happily and pushed her head onto his palm. In the span of a few seconds he was overwhelmed with the rush of a thousand images that clamoured for his awareness but had no hope for comprehension. " _Aithusa, slower._ "

She obeyed, if slightly, and he had just started to sift through the confusion, and thought he had gleaned a strange image of Morgana that could only have existed within Aithusa's mind, when Kilgharrah's sharp call shook him into the present.

" _Merlin, someone watches—_ "

Kilgharrah lept forward on powerful legs, flames already building in his maw. Merlin whirled, following the dragon's line of sight, and his world stuttered to a halt. He yelled, " _Wait!_ "

In pure disbelief he saw the knight hidden in the shadows of the trees, dressed in his usual chainmail but missing the telltale Camelotian red cloak. His brown hair stuck to the sweat on his cheeks and his eyes were wide with wordless shock.

Merlin felt his stomach slide into his throat, and his heart seized as if someone had reached out and grasped it in a merciless fist.

"Gwaine."

* * *

 _Centuries sung by Fall Out Boy_

* * *

 **Footnotes:**

(1) Carnwennan - Morgana's dagger gifted to her by Arthur. In the legends Arthur had a dagger with this name that had the ability to shroud its user in shadow.  
(2) We first meet Bleise in 'Seven Layer Upside Down Cake' and 'Cinderella'. He is a powerful sorcerer, but also has never blatantly stood against Merlin or Arthur. However, he has certainly never bowed to Merlin's destiny and strength like many of his people. I find his opinions interesting.  
(3) Triskelion is the mark of the Druid. I think it could represent many things, like something as mundane as the three years between series four and five, or things as literal as Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred, or as abstract as fate, fact, and fiction. I love it for it's versatility, and I love it as a symbol for this story.  
(4) "No matter how straight our paths, or how punishing our challenges, we are the master of our fates. We are the captain of our souls." This is reworded, but a quote from the poem Invictus.  
(5) The Leshy is from way, way back in the 2nd chapter: 'Lucky Charms'. He is a version of the king of the forest, and he shrinks to a small stature when on his forest's border, but grows to a giant when at its center. Merlin asks for a good growing season in Ealdor, and the Leshy requests a wife by the end of the year in return. Otherwise, he'll turn the entire harvest to poison.  
(6) "O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes" : Translated via Merlin wiki, then tweaked this famous line that calls Kilgharrah.  
(7) The songs at the end of the last few chapters have been closing credits. I would hope you get to listen to them immediately after reading the last words of the chapter.

 **Author's Requiem:  
**

This is the end of the first part. We are more than a _hundred thousand_ words in and I am having an out of body experience while typing these words. I'm amazed at how excited I still am to write this, and that there is still so much story to tell after 27 chapters! Wow, what a journey for me. This story, and all of you, have changed my life in ways I can't succinctly describe. Linorien has been an invaluable and irreplaceable beta, and Jewels, you know I love you, and our inbound wagons. ;) You have all generously graced me with your responses and praises and given me an indescribable happiness every week for the last five months. Thank you, thank you, thank you. In return, I have given you the gift of evil incarnate—the notorious cliffhanger.

Many of you came out in support of Morgana, and honestly I was surprised. I am glad though. If we are to save this legend, Morgana can't be driven to madness in that pit. I love that everyone gave me ideas, from draining her magic to sending her far away, but, dear dmarie1184 wins the Kilgharrah award for " _I tend to be a bit...bloodthirsty..."._ I am very glad that no one predicted the Leshy, though that's because everyone probably forgot about it!

I'm madly excited about Gwaine seeing Merlin and the dragons. I am also missing the knights and Arthur with deep pains in my chest cavity. In addition, while the darkness has been useful and needed these last few chapters, I think too much angst and darkness can be a bit pretentious. I'm going to plan for a happier medium as we launch Part 2. I will not post next week, I am having a minor writing vacation, but then the story will continue the week after. I will post an Index/Summary as Chapter 28, and simultaneously post the first chapter of Three Wheels: The Year of Shadows. This will be the clue (I hope) for all the people who have this story alerted to switch over.

 **Req's Recs**

The puns struck again. As this story is on a one week break, I urge you to take your Merlin cravings over to these wonderful authors and meet Merlin all over again in new wonderful ways.

 _Linorien's 'TV Magic' :_ _B_ _ecause how could Merlin resist working on a show called "Merlin"? In which Merlin decided to become the head of practical effects and may or may not be totally cheating by using his magic._ Trust me, this is as funny as it sounds. There are absolutely hilarious and exciting moments to come, I have giggled giddily more than once while previewing these golden nuggets, and even more amazingly, Linorien is taking requests for further hijinks.

 _dmarie1184's 'The Call of Destiny' :_ _Merlin has sent Arthur across the lake of Avalon until the time he will rise again. Believing his calling has ended in failure, he decides to make his way back to his childhood home in Ealdor. But his path converges with another along the way, a young seer burdened by her "gift."_ We're all partly here because we're craving that happy ending. It's wonderful to see Merlin dealing with losing Arthur, but even more wonderful to see it largely through the eyes of these stunningly complex characters introduced by Dmarie. _  
_

_Jewelsmg_ has not written anything, but highly recommends _Alaia Skyhawk's 'A Question of...' Series_ : I have not personally read it myself, but if you are looking for an epic spanning seasons and delving into the episodes and the characters, oh, _and that also bumps up the reveal_ , then go check this out!

I am the closest to these three great Merlin fans, and we've done a lot of talking behind the scenes, so I do apologize if there are other reviewer's whose stories I have not read. I know that StarlightInHerEyes22 writes stories but on a different site, and that One Lonely Marauder is close to posting a new story as well, so look out for those! If there are any other reviewers who's stories I haven't read, and we haven't chatted yet, drop me a line in your next review and then be prepared to get tired of talking to me.

 _"Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life." — Mark Twain_


	28. Index and Summary

A summary of all the chapters and where characters appear, and also a summary of everyone that has appeared or has been mentioned in Part 1, and what major effects they've had on the story. If there are any characters, plotlines, or locations you'd like me to expand on here for your reference, feel free to drop me that line in a review or a PM.

Part 2 is up.

* * *

1\. Half-penny Hero  
Merlin plants a sigil in the scabbard of Arthur's sword so that anyone that holds it will not bleed from any wound.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen  
And: Gaius, George, Leon, Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, Elizabeth

2\. Lucky Charms  
Merlin arrives in Ealdor and meets the new lord of his village, and makes a deal with Ascetir's forest spirit.  
Main Cast: Merlin  
And: Alane, Lord Urien, Hunith, the Leshy

3\. A Roll in the Hay  
Merlin learns the fate of Will's ex-fiance, and Gaius makes his rounds to two future King's Council members.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Gaius  
And: Alane, Aila, Percival, Mistress Vanora, Sir Brennis

4\. Me, Thyself, and I  
Merlin, Gaius, and Gwaine find themselves combating a dangerous spirit intent on possession and violence.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, Nellie  
And: Gaius, Gwen, Ellen

5\. Gossip Girls  
Merlin and Arthur have a Merthur breakfast.  
Main Cast: Arthur, Merlin

6\. Put A Ring On It  
Arthur and Gwen finally get word from an ally on opinion of their marriage, and Merlin gets a new admirer.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen  
And: Rin, Gwaine, Miri, Mistress Vanora

7\. Lack of Study in Scarlet  
The group makes their journey south, but they're forced to spend the night in a village due to a rainstorm.  
Main Cast: Gwaine, Merlin, Percival  
And: Elyan, Lady Lyvieve, Leon, Arthur, Gwen

8\. The Changeling in B Minor  
Merlin tells the story of his first meeting with Princess Elena and Lord Gawant.  
Main Cast: Merlin

9\. Damsels in Disguise  
Strange magic takes over the guests of Lord Gawant's Beltane celebration, and Gwen and Arthur find themselves caught up in the madness.  
Main Cast: Gwen, Arthur, Princess Elena, Lord Godwyn  
And: Merlin, Mistress Vanora, Lady Lyvieve, Miri, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan

10\. Pixie Styx  
Beltane from Merlin's perspective as he tries to juggle his normal duties, a thieving pixie, and a murderous widowed Sidhe.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Sidhe Elder  
And: Anemos, Arthur, Olly, Miri, the Pixies, Gwen, Arthur

11\. Pinky Promises  
Arthur recalls a promise he made to a young Druid boy, and Merlin is tasked with helping him carry it out.  
Main Cast: Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine, the Round Table  
And: Kara, Iseldir, the Druids

12\. Seven Layer Upside Down Cake  
The Knights stay a week within the Druid's camp, and they learn a few unexpected lessons.  
Main Cast: Arthur, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan  
And: Merlin, Leon, Iseldir, Forridel, Cecht, Cael, Aglain (Aonar), Bleise, Kara

13\. Cinderella  
In order to bridge an unending argument during the Druidic peace talks, Merlin must journey to the Lake of Avalon.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Freya, Bleise, Iseldir  
And: Arthur, the King's Council, Percival, Lila

14\. Dreamcatcher  
A leap into the past, taking place half a month after retaking the castle from Morgana, where Merlin is sent to retrieve Gwaine from the tavern.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Gwaine  
And: Arthur, Gwen

15\. It's Just a Prank, Bro  
The Knights decide through a series of four trials who deserves the right to represent the crown during the Tournament of Camelot.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Percival, Gwaine, Elyan  
And: Gaius, Arthur, Gwen

16\. Aisle Four: Hoops, Tightropes, Flying Carpets  
A traveling circus comes to Camelot, and they bring a frightening beast with them.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Gwaine, Arthur  
And: Zuhair, George, Miri, the djinn

17\. Clean Up In Aisle Four  
Merlin figures out the truth behind the djinn, and he learns a new aspect of magic while finding a way to entrap it.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Lalla Sheba, the djinn, Arthur  
And: Zuhair, Zara, Elizabeth, Gaius, Gwaine

18\. Hold My Beer  
A drunken night between the knights, Arthur, and Merlin.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Gwaine  
And: Percival, Elyan, Leon, Arthur, Miri, Lila, Gaius

19\. Itsy Bitsy Spiders  
The Tournament of Camelot comes to Camelot. A mysterious knight is injured in battle and comes to Merlin for assistance, Gwaine witnesses a darkness in his best mate, and Arthur catches on to the lies.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, Princess Mithian  
And: Elyan, Gwen, Lord Urien, Gaius

20\. Just Shy of Waterboarding  
Arthur and Merlin have an early morning training session.  
Main Cast: Arthur, Merlin

21\. Surprise! It's a Love Story  
The group makes the first half of their journey south with the intention of hunting down the missing Morgana.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Arthur, Iseldir  
And: Gaius, Forridel, Aglain (Aonar), Elyan, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, Cael

22\. Cell Block Tango  
Merlin sneaks into King Alined's castle and he and Gwaine stalk a known magic user.  
Main Cast: Merlin, King Alined, Gwaine  
And: Leon, Forridel, Alined's Advisor, Trickler, Alvarr, Arthur

23\. A Tale of Two Patrols  
Merlin finally learns to teleport, and he uses it to search for Aithusa.  
Main Cast: Merlin/Dragoon, Kilgharrah, Leon  
And: Sir Brennis, Gaius, Arthur

24\. Two Can Keep A Secret (If One of Them is Dead)  
Merlin infiltrates the Sarrum's castle in Amata through some unconventional glamours, and Merlin is captured, tortured, and forced to tear aside the veil between his magic and that of Albion's.  
Main Cast: Merlin/Merlynn, Gilli/Gilliana, the Red Woman  
And: the Sarrum, Sina

25\. Magic Incarnate  
The strange magic Merlin channeled forces him to relive the Battle of Aderyyd from the perspective of magic itself.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Gaius  
And: Gwen, Gwaine, Uther, the Sarrum, Alined, Nimueh, Morgause, Wendover

26\. The Sound of Silence  
Merlin makes the decision to break Aithusa out of her prison in Amata through any means necessary, but he doesn't to find Morgana imprisoned alongside her.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Morgana, Kilgharrah  
And: Gaius, Lalla Sheba, Aithusa, the djinn

27\. Centuries  
Merlin gets Aithusa to safety, but has to decide whether or not to help Morgana.  
Main Cast: Merlin, Aithusa, Kilgharrah, Bleise, Morgana  
And: Gaius, the Sarrum

* * *

Full Cast:

Agravaine - To Gwaine, Merlin has admitted to killing him.

Aglain (Aonar) - A family-less Druid teenager who looks up to Elyan as an older brother.

Aiya (Ai) - Will's former fiance, and a childhood friend of Merlin's. Blonde and blue-eyed, she is beautiful and being married off to a lesser noble.

Alane - Aiya's father. He is struck by Lord Urien when withholding taxes that he plans to use as a dowry.

Alined, King - King of Deorham, 2nd of the five kingdoms. Has a surplus of siege weapons, so he is trying to instigate a war between Odin and Arthur by spreading a rumor that Morgana is with Odin.

Alvarr - has heard through the spreading of false rumors that Odin would welcome Morgana

Anemos - Merlin's feisty brown gelding

Annis, Queen - So far has responded a sarcastic 'congratulations' to news of Arthur and Gwen's nuptials. Arthur is still attempting to negotiate peace talks.

Aithusa - Her hind legs are crippled, and Merlin has ordered her to stay with Kilgharrah until she is fully healed.

Arthur - Believes there is a Druid spy in Camelot. Has established a peace with the Druids.

Audrey - Camelot's head cook

Balin - a guard from Odin's castle that Merlin, as Dragoon, interrogates.

Bayard, King - did not send a gift for Gwen and Arthur's marriage, but said for them to visit him.

Bleise - assisted with the peace talks, Master of Histories for the Druid peoples. He does not put much stock in prophecy, and because of that challenges the claim that Emrys will bring about the Golden Age, though not openly. He is also a powerful sorcerer.

Brennis Pelham, Sir - a childhood friend of Arthur's. Percival broke his arm in series 4, and he currently has replaced his father the King's Council. The Pelham crest is a bow and arrow.

Cador, Sir - a knight of Camelot

Cael - Master of Defenses for Iseldir's Camp. Shows Percival how he's grown a defensive ring of serkets.

Caerleon, King - King of Caerleon that Arthur beheaded in series 4, husband to Queen Annis.

Caridoc, Sir - a knight of Camelot

Catrina, Queen - Queen of Alba, 4th of the 5 kingdoms, and also whom the troll impersonated.

Cecht - son of Cael, played with Percival and took a liking to him.

Cenred - warlord who sided with Morgause and Morgana.

The Djinn - a fiery creature who Merlin first bound with magic to not harm humans, then released after it helped to find Aithusa.

Drystan - a freckled young man who has recently been promoted from guard to a footsoldier in Sir Brennis' squad.

Elena, Princess - formerly possessed by a pixie, she is now engaged and friendly with Gwen.

Ellen - a seamstress/basic upkeep maid under the Hook. Mother to Nellie.

Elyan - champion of the Tournament of Camelot.

Finch, (Neil) Master - a master stoneworker, and master of the artisans of Camelot. Working with Lord Gawant's master artisans to construct a defendable highway between their countries.

Forridel - a tanner forced to flee Camelot in live with the Druids during Uther's reign. She is still living with the Druids, but has romantically caught the eye of Leon.

Freya - gave Merlin a glass ring, which he gave to her in another version of history, which also acted as a cursebreaker.

Gaius - has little idea exactly what Merlin has been doing the past few weeks, but still deeply cares for him. Does not know that Merlin witnessed him kill Wendol.

Geoffrey of Monmouth - Camelot's Historian. Helped Gwen hang the Battle of Arderydd tapestry in the Hall of Records.

George - formerly Uther's manservant, then promoted to the Chamberlain's Assistant, and now also the Bailiff for the Morholt estate.

Geraint, Sir - a knight of Camelot.

Gilli - killed the Red Woman, thinks Merlin is wrong to back Arthur and parted on bad terms with Merlin. Currently living with Sina presumably somewhere in Camelot or Essetir.

Godwyn, Lord - an ally to Arthur and respects him. Wants to build a fortified highway between their two countries.

Grenfell - the richest merchant of Camelot, and also a moneylender.

Gwaine - learning to fight left-handed, and also has just seen Merlin talking to Kilgharrah and Aithusa. Has seen a few things in Merlin over the course of the story that made him suspicious.

Guinevere (Gwen) - still mostly friendless except for the knights and Merlin, and not actively looking for a handmaiden, though in need of one. Still very beloved by the people.

Helios - a warlord that helped Morgana take the castle in series 4.

Hook - the Reeve of Camelot's castle. (Basically head-servant). Hook-nosed old man.

Hunith - forced to pay double their usual taxes to Lord Urien.

Iseldir - moved his camp into Camelot's borders.

Joel - owner of the Rising Sun

Kara - familiy was killed by Arthur when he was ordered to kill the Druids after Morgana's 'kidnapping'. Now hates Arthur, and does not believe in Emrys' prophecy.

Kilgharrah - is tasked with healing Aithusa, taught Merlin to teleport, and is currently charging towards Gwaine.

The King's Council: Sir Brennis, Lord Savile, the boy Wyndham, Mistress Vanora, Grenfelll, Master Finch, Arthur, Gwen

Leon - is not against the Druids because of how they saved his life. Is the Captain of the Guard.

The Leshy - a forest creature that is large when at the center of the forest but small on its outskirts, and has made a deal with Merlin. One year of Ealdor's best growing season in return for a companion. Merlin has provided Morgana.

Lila - the Candlemaker's Assistant. She is very shy, but has met Merlin twice now.

Lot, King - King of Essetir.

Lyvieve (Liv) Savile, Lady - a beautiful young noble woman who loves attention.

Mattie - linen maid.

Merlin - can now teleport, use glamours without the need of potions, can see magic, and has ripped aside the veil between his magic and Albion's, allowing him to channel it.

Miri - a servant of Mistress Vanora. She has a long black braid, her parents are gypsy's and she briefly had a non-reciprocated crush on Merlin.

Mithian, Princess - fought as a mystery knight in the Tournament of Camelot, bruised her rib while losing against Lord Urien, and Merlin bandaged her up.

Morgana - her life has been saved many times by Aithusa, and Emrys has saved her from the pit by forcing her to eat a pomegranate which bound her to the Leshy's clearing.

Morgause - as a child she witnessed the Battle of Arderydd, and was given into Nimueh's care by Gaius.

Nellie - a child, and a linen maid possessed by the brollachan.

Nimueh - believed Gaius betrayed them to Uther which helped to fuel her hatred against them. Fled the Battle of Arderydd.

Odin, King - King of Cornwall. Mentioned that despite holding a peace between Cornwall and Camelot, he still likely despises Arthur.

Olaf, King - King of Norway. 5th of the five kingdoms.

Olly - stableboy in Gawant, very superstitious.

Osra Wyndham, Dame - the true voice behind the boy Wyndham. An old matron of her house.

Wyndham, the boy - a youth on the King's Council. Waif-like and weak.

Percival - it is known that his family was killed by Cenred. He is close friends with Gwaine, sleeping near him in the barracks.

The Red Woman - a dancer for the Sarrum. An elder woman that dressed in red, and tortured Merlin when she realized he was a spy and a sorcerer. Killed by Gilli.

Rin - one of the runners for the city. An internal messenger. Wears a green cap like the other internal messengers.

The Round Table: Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Leon, Merlin

The Sarrum - King of Amata. A ghoul-faced man from the Arabian/Egyptian regions. He captured Aithusa and Morgana and kept them in a well, and also witnessed Emrys free Morgana, and subsequently was threatened by him.

Savile, Lord - uncle to Lyvieve, and an elder, trusted member of the King's council. He also sat during Uther's reign.

Sheba, Lalla - the head of the Amatan carnival troupe, a fortuneteller and a seer. She bound the djinn to her and loved him.

Sina - the Amatan dancer Gilli fell in love with. Gilli and Merlin break into the castle to free her. Currently living with him presumably in Camelot or Essetir.

Trickler - a court jester with magical abilities, in the employ of Alined. Spreading rumors that Morgana is with Odin / is welcome in Odin's lands.

Vanora Morholt, Mistress - the widow of Sir Morholt, a knight that died in series 4. She now sits on the Council, but has little idea what she's doing, though she loves everyone believing she's very worldly and wise.

Vivian, Princess - daughter of King Olaf whom Arthur was enchanted to fall in love with. The court caught him kissing her in his bedchambers back in series 1 or 2.

Urien, Lord - the lord of Ealdor. He is demanding double the taxes for the king, supposedly because of the war Cenred lost. He fought in the Tournament of Camelot and made it to the final round, whence he was beaten by Elyan. He struck Merlin across the face, and Gwaine witnessed it.

Wendol - a charismatic sorcerer who brought many druid tribes together, and an acquaintance of Gaius'. He fought in the Battle of Arderydd, and while Merlin 'saw through his eyes', Gaius sliced his throat.

Will - Merlin's childhood friend from Ealdor, who died pretending to have magic, to protect Merlin's secret.

Zuhair - an acrobat from the Amatan carnival troupe. Twins with Zara. Befriended both Merlin and Gwaine, and taught Merlin to juggle.

Zara - She runs the carnival troupe, even if Lalla Sheba is the true leader. Twins with Zuhair. Got quite annoyed with Gwaine.


End file.
